


Pretty Painted Masks

by SuiCausa



Series: Iron Bull's Rules [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, Dry Humping, Explicit Sexual Content, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Heavy Petting, M/M, Magic Fingers, Making Out, Mentions of past abuse, OT3, Oral Sex, Research Partners, Secret Relationship, Slow Burn, Threesome - M/M/M, heavy kissing, lets pretend to be lovers what could go wrong
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-01 07:15:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 52,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4010737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuiCausa/pseuds/SuiCausa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Iron Bull/Male Mage Lavellan/Dorian Pavus, OT3. Dorian and Lavellan are on the case, trying to discover a cure for a strange magical disease that is affecting Wycome, once again threatening Lavellan's clan. When Lavellan's Keeper shows up in person to help them with their research, things rapidly spiral out of control. Lavellan has a plan: Dorian poses as his lover to keep his Keeper from meeting Iron Bull. It's a terrible plan, one that Dorian finds himself enjoying going along with far too much. </p><p>Lavellan starts playing for keeps. The Plan is a train wreck waiting to happen, and Iron Bull sits back to enjoy the show.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. These Painted Masks We Wear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this has been a big plot bunny for a long time, and lots of thanks to the lovely Tryxal for keeping me at least somewhat on track enough to start making some decent progress on it! Everything is story-boarded out, but we all know how long it takes me to actually write anything so I make no promises on how quickly I will spit this out. Hopefully each chapter will be worth the wait!
> 
> If you haven't read any of my work before, Lavellan and Iron Bull are in a very established relationship at this point, and Lavellan has a bit of emotional baggage built up from some bad experiences with the First of his Clan. His First was killed in a mission that the Chargers were involved in, all very conveniently after Iron Bull found out what an asshole the guy was.
> 
> If you have read my work for, ENJOY OT3 I HOPE YOU'RE NOT DISAPPOINTED. I've got a lot planned for this. ♥

Red Lyrium in the wells of Wycome had been a terrifying thing. It had turned otherwise sane people into monsters, had ripped apart an entire city and nearly wiped out Lavellan’s clan completely. His Keeper was strong and clever and his advisors had put every care and effort into bringing his people out of the explosive situation safely. Lavellan was certain it was only due to their efforts that he still had a clan to receive letters from.

_Vir Tanadhal._

_Fly straight, and do not waver._

_Bend, but do not break._

_Together we are stronger than one._

_You might feel you have lost your way Da’len, but we will not lose our faith in you. The People are just as lost, we drift from day to day, clawing our way forward to survive. We must find strength in each other. We must continue to honor our past, while we reach for our future._

_You have shown us the way to change this world. We will follow your example, we will honor you, even if you are not among our ranks._

_You site your choice in lover as grounds for exile. As your Keeper, I reject this. You are no shem’len, my sweet Da’len. If you find peace amongst the arms of a human it is no care of mine._

_The humans revere you but you are always welcome back in your clan should you wish to return._

_Dareth Shiral, Da’len_

Lavellan had carefully folded the letter and stored it away for safe keeping. He told nobody of it, or his previous correspondence. He liked to think he had saved his clan, even though it was others in the Inquisition that had done the work. He’d taken satisfaction in the death of his First. He’d felt relief, like he could find closure and forge a new life ahead, leaving his past, his clan behind.

Dalliances amongst outsiders was often a serious concern for Dalish. Not that it happened much, humans hunting them rarely opened the avenue for romance. Yet Lavellan had since heard of elves who had been exiled from their clans for the crime of loving a human. He had decided that the best way to bring closure would be to sever all ties.

Perhaps he should have mentioned that it was a _qunari_ that he was bedding, instead of leaving his letter so vague. Maybe _that_ would have scandalized his Keeper enough to take his declaration seriously.

Instead she had doubled her efforts to console him. She wrote many letters afterwards, detailing her efforts in Wycome, the struggles that his clan faced and the joy they found in their victories. He’d read every letter dozens of time, followed news reports from his men closely, spent night after night at the war table arguing with his advisors over how to best root out the Venatori influence, how to keep both the humans and the elves of Wycome safe.

He hadn’t responded to a single letter. Somehow, his Keeper knew that he continued reading them. She continued to extend her hand even as he refused it. As the world spiraled out of control Lavellan refused to take it for fear of bringing her and his clan down with him. There was an anger inside of him that was not healthy, he knew it. He didn’t wish to expose her to it.

The books he read from his own library were bathed in the Chantry's views. The elves were heathens who had brought their own destruction upon themselves. Only the kindness of the Chantry gave them the sweet gift to build homes in human slums, though only if they abandoned their pagan gods and submitted to the whim of their human overlords. His people were slaughtered and hunted in their own homes, their lands ripped from them, yet as the humans saw to it that their culture was destroyed once again they claimed that it was the _elves_ who were the savages.

It made Lavellan angry. He was expected to fix the Chantry but he saw nothing in it worth saving. He played his role and the anger inside brewed because he was supposed to treat everyone with mercy when the very system he was rebuilding was the one that had spread hate and discrimination under the guise of faith for years.

It came to a head on the Exalted Plains, where he had carefully examined every carving in the bottom of statutes as he was prone to do. Revered in stone were the humans that had commit genocide upon an entire race, praised as heroes of their golden prophet. They’d forgotten that it was Andraste who had given the elves the land that had been pulled out from under them. Heresy to recall such things.

With a growl Lavellan slammed a fiery fist into the stone, a heavy barrier protecting his slender hand and giving it enough force that the whole statute trembled. The blow was followed quickly by another and soon Lavellan was trying to knock down the statue with his bare hands, screaming the vitriol and rage that had built up for too long.

His companions watched in shock, Cole staring but failing to speak up, unable to find the words that would help. Dorian looked sad, guilty even. Like this was the first time he realized that what he'd been taught as a child and forgotten with the same nonchalance was the destruction of everything Lavellan's people had.

Suddenly the large stone carving shifted, threatening to topple over and crush the raging elf beneath it. Iron bull finally moved from where he'd stood to grab Lavellan under his arms and drag him out of harm's way, the elf clawing and kicking and shouting the whole time.

"They say we're stuck in the past, that we're foolish to chase old stories and try to keep the old ways! When it is their fault! They destroyed us! They took away everything and left us with nothing but scraps! They mock us as we struggle to rebuild and remember, and now they want our help?" He was yelling but Iron Bull’s grip was too strong to escape, holding him in place while he got it out out his system. Dorian lead Cole away, the 'vint probably knowing full well that any comfort either of them could offer would not be well received in Lavellan’s current state of mind.

They stayed within earshot and when none of his companions, including the qunari restraining him spoke up to argue, Lavellan's anger began to fade, replaced with exhaustion and sheepishness at his outburst. The big hands on him finally pulled him tight against Iron Bull's chest, where the steady heartbeat that simply radiated calmness soothed him.

"People are assholes." Iron bull said simply, his voice a balm across Lavellan's frayed nerves. "But if you hate everyone all at once, you'll burn out. Settle on finding a solution instead of focusing your energy on the past. You don't like the system? Then change it. You're the only one who can."

They'd been simple words, simple instructions. Yet Lavellan was hit with a dawning realization that had rocked his faith in the way his people lived. Clinging onto the past that had destroyed them would cause them to stagnate forever. Instead he had been given a chance to rescue the humans from _their_ destruction. Fix the very same structure that had destroyed his people so many years ago. Leave his mark on human history in a way that would not be easily forgotten.

Make sure that his people could not be wiped out from human concern any longer.

His Keeper, he realized, was following his example. She was looking to him for guidance and she wasn’t even the only one. Her actions in Wycome were beginning to form a ripple effect throughout the area. People were talking, word was spreading, it was a _good thing_ and in her letters his Keeper credited him for being the inspiration that drove her -- that if he could move forward while still honoring the past, so could she.

However her newest letter had been more than a simple status update. Instead it had been a plea for help, a request for Inquisition resources to aid her. Many people both elven and human had began to fall sick to an unknown disease. It was proving to become steadily more lethal, the symptoms becoming progressively serious as the infection spread.

Healers had discovered that it was not a regular disease of any kind. It seemed to be based in some kind of entropic magic, feeding off of the weakness left behind by the red lyrium poisoning so many had faced. Anyone who had been exposed to red lyrium was at serious risk of infection. They were managing to treat it for now, but they would have to find a way to unwind the spell’s hold on a body before more people got sick.

His Keeper was at a loss and there was little to no information in Wycome that proved to be helpful for her research. She had enclosed everything she had discovered so far, along with a heartfelt plea for aid.

With their scouts spread across Thedas looking for signs of Corypheus’ current movements, soldier’s sent to uproot Venatori and Red Templars in various locations and talks with the upcoming decision of the Divine, Lavellan found that the Inquisition was a flurry of activity. Unwilling to draw healers away from their tasks, Lavellan decided to forgo his excursion to the Hissing Wastes to pursue what leads he could personally.

Morrigan was kind enough to lend him some books to read through, the Inquisition’s library offering the rest which was far more extensive than his Keeper would have access to in Wycome. Soon he was beginning to make progress on a couple of theories, wondering how to go about testing them.

In the night he found himself crawling out of the cocoon of warm blankets in order to drag books into bed with him, resting against Iron Bull’s chest as he studied them with the dim light of a conjured lick of fire. The first time it woke Iron Bull the qunari had been amused by attempting to distract Lavellan into returning to bed. Despite their activities Lavellan would crawl back to the books when he recovered, a little more haggard looking but no less determined. Eventually Iron Bull resigned himself to the fact that Lavellan’s focus on his current project was not going to be shaken.

He ended up treading into waters that were too academic. Medical science and magic combined left Lavellan confused and seeking clarification from other texts more often than not. So he came to the simple conclusion of asking for help -- and who better to turn to than the most academic mage of them all, Dorian.

When it came to magical research and theory, the Tevinter trained mage was one of the best and certainly not shy about flaunting it. While there may have been others perhaps more qualified or with the express purpose of such research, Lavellan found that it was far easier to ask Dorian for help. Mostly because it only required a rare bottle of wine from his growing private supply and a bright smile.

Successfully recruited, Dorian jumped straight in while swirling the wine in his glass delicately, the two of them gathered around a table they’d dragged to the ‘vint’s little alcove in the library.

“These are the scrolls that the Keeper sent, there’s some notes on the development of the disease, enough to implicate that it was specifically created to start a plague.”

“My dear Inquisitor, these are in Tevene.” Dorian said as he picked them up to unravel them, flipping through them quickly. “All of them.”

“Well, my Keeper doesn’t know Tevene, neither does anyone left sane or uninfected in Wycome. She sent them to us hoping we could translate them. See, it’s progressing worse in people who were being poisoned by the red lyrium previously--”

“There’s nothing here on how to cure it. Barely even anything here on it’s creation. Mostly just orders on how to spread it throughout the city. Why not have your little people interrogate this Magister for more information?”

“Ah...well.” Lavellan scratched his head sheepishly. “My clan’s hunters were the ones who found him, you see. Kind of--”

“Shoot first, ask questions later?” Dorian offered a wry grin, his expression and lilt to his words teasing as he sipped from his wine glass. “Just how many arrows did he have in his throat when they realized he was more valuable alive?”

“Hey! They’re trying!” Lavellan huffed out a breath of air, turning his attention to sorting through the books on the table, ears flushing. “They haven’t quite gotten past the ‘best vint is a dead vint’’ thing. But they’re the only chance Wycome’s got, so stop your snarking and help me figure this out. This is what I have so far.” Lavellan pushed several sheets of notes across the table after plucking them from one of the books. “It’s some kind of magic disease, right? The Keeper reports that the disease seems to attack the blood. Do you have any idea how hard it is to request information on ‘blood’ and ‘magic’ and ‘Tevinter’ without getting concerned looks from the librarians?”

“So you come to me! When can I expect the mob coming to lynch me for converting the Inquisitor to blood magic?” Dorian’s indignant concern was a beautifully convincing show before he suddenly got distracted by one of the books Lavellan was holding. “Maker, please don’t tell me you’ve been referencing _that_.”

“What? What’s wrong with _Magical Maladies and Mayhem for the Moraled Medic_?”

“What’s _not_ wrong with it? It was written years ago in Tevinter by a Laetan charged with using blood magic to cure simple ailments on the common folk. Which would have been respectable enough I suppose, if he wasn’t terrible at it. The Soparati nearly hanged him when people started sprouting extra parts or lost their sense of smell shortly after visiting him.”

Lavellan’s eyes grew wide as he stared first at Dorian and then back at the book. “What?! There’s nothing like that in this book!”

“I would hope not! When asked to prove to the court that he was even remotely qualified to be a practicing physician, _this_ is what he came up with.” Dorian snapped the book out of Lavellan’s hands at that, flipping through it with a look of utter disgust on his face. “It was pointless drivel, the ravings of a madman desperate to prove he had an inkling of a clue what he was talking about. His theories on the effects of magic on the human body were completely at odds with everything currently known. Ask a school boy how magic could affect one’s immune system and they could have given a better answer.”

“But the librarian…”

“Recommended it? Leave it to you Southerners to smuggle out any scrap of Tevinter literature thinking it worthwhile. His book was resold and researched by backwater bumpkins, followed as if it some great insight. He lost his rank and station as a physician and mage, but he must have made a fortune on royalties…”

“ _Dorian._ ” Lavellan moaned, palming his forehead with an exasperated noise. “This was the only book I could find.”

“Well, that’s why you have me.” Dorian beamed, tossing the book behind him without the least of a care where it landed. Lavellan was pretty sure it sailed over the railing to land on the tower level below. Hopefully a certain bald elf wasn’t harmed or else they’d never hear the end of it. “You’re going about this wrong. We’re not looking for a cure, because a cure probably has never been created. If we had the notes on how this disease was manufactured, then we would use those. However…” Dorian trailed off with a pointed look at Lavellan, as if making one elf feel guilty was enough to affect them all. “We start with the finished product, what we know about it, then deconstruct it from there. Once we know how it was made, we can work on how to end it.”

Not all mages were created equal, Lavellan decided. As Dorian drilled him for more information, clearing a wide space and beginning to scratch out notes and charts in a flowing script of neat writing it was painfully clear. Some mages, like himself, were born to blow things up and not question how it occurred. Others got a look of absolute bliss over their face as they began to work on a great intellectual puzzle. Maybe it was just a Tevinter thing.

With Dorian on board, the course of Lavellan’s research changed drastically. His reading material was usurped and replaced with what the Altus knew would be useful, giving the elf an expansive base to work off. Dorian outlined plans of what they knew and what they needed to know about the disease, both of them filled it in as they sorted through papers and reports they received from Wycome. After a few days the amount of material they had required more than Dorian’s little alcove, everything relocated to a quiet room in the fortress.

When they needed something, anything, Lavellan made sure they had it. After speaking to one of the quartermaster’s assistants about a requisition, Lavellan turned and was surprised to see Dorian looking tense about something. “What’s wrong?”

“Wrong? Oh, nothing at all.” Dorian said with a laugh, though the noise had a strained edge. Lavellan had spent enough time with the mage to notice when the ‘vints mask dropped a little, revealing someone far more human than he liked to let on. “Just amused, when you say _jump_ they practically scramble to comply. The same man fought me tooth and nail the last time I requested research material.”

“Being the Inquisitor helps, I promise.” Lavellan offered with a small smile, which Dorian accepted with a snort.

“Yes, yes I’m sure it does. As does not being born in the nation that mothered our enemy. These Southerners can be so boringly close minded.”

“If they’re hindering any research you’re doing, I’ll make sure they’re dealt with.” Lavellan said with a frown, looking at the book in his hand for a moment, pretty green eyes hidden underneath dark lashes. “The whole ‘mage from tevinter’ thing is about as old as the ‘dalish savage’ thing. It’s time people got over it.”

“Asking them to give up their petty hatred? However will they spend their time then? We wouldn’t want them suddenly getting productive, now would we? No, I don’t need you fighting my battles for me. Can you imagine the rumors that fly?”

“It could inspire another one of Mother Giselle’s _talks._ I don’t think I could handle another of those.”

Dorian had returned to his work, chuckling as he sorted through papers and unfurled scrolls. “Oh come now, it wasn’t so bad. She certainly started backpedaling when you appeared.”

“Yeah…” Lavellan let out a breathy laugh, setting down the book he was examining while dragging up a piece of parchment to scribble quick notes onto. “But when she cornered me the second time--”

“What? Again?” Dorian’s voice was sharp, almost perturbed. “Vishante kaffas, you can’t be serious. I’ve been on my best behavior!”

“Oh, it wasn’t about you.” Lavellan chuckled while looking up. “It was about the time word got out that me and Iron Bull were uh, knocking horns. You think befriending a ‘vint is bad? Try sleeping with a qunari. She was pretty convinced I was purposefully trying to start a scandal to undermine the Inquisition at that point.”

Dorian laughed aloud before covering his mouth with a hand to try and stifle the noise, turn it into a cough or _something_ a little more polite, failing spectacularly as his eyes gleamed with mirth. “I would have paid good coin to see that. You must have scandalized her to the very bone.”

Lavellan smirked though the expression was twisted with a bit of regret, the elf tucking some loose hair behind his ear as he avoided Dorian’s gaze. “Unfortunately I wasn’t really prepared for _that_ conversation quite so soon. Our ‘coming out’ was a bit of an accident, after all.” His poor advisors had been shocked, yet so totally _okay_ with it that Lavellan had not expected opposition when the Revered Mother had approached him. “Sort of just stammered that who I bed was hardly Chantry business and fled. She’s been proven wrong over time but I’d wish I had been more forward in defending myself.”

Dorian had a bit of _that_ expression again, some of his sarcastic charm replaced with something more like concern for his friend. “She’s hardly worth the effort. I’m surprised she said anything at all, really. Inviting a visit from your two-horned friend _should_ be enough to ward off any naysayers.”

“I think he had a very respectful talk with her afterwards. He said something about ‘Tamassrans’ and just looking out for everyone. He’s not a very spiteful person, The Iron Bull.” Lavellan commented softly, the fingertip he was tracing lines of text with becoming tender across the page as he imagined his lover with fondness. “Lucky for many, I suppose.”

Dorian seemed ready to say something, perhaps a snarky bit of wit however he thought better of it. Instead, the two of them fell into their research with an amiable silence. They’d swap books and exchange notes now and then, working out a system between the two of them that was smooth as a river’s current.

The sun had long began its descent in the sky when Lavellan jerked upright, putting down the book he had been reading. “Dorian. Humor me for a moment.”

Dorian looked up from where he was carefully writing out notes, setting down his quill as he leaned back and stretched languidly. “Alright, Inquisitor. Consider yourself humored.”

“What if we’re looking at this the wrong way. What if this disease isn’t being controlled or directed by magic through the body as we thought. What if it’s not being told what to do. What if it’s merely...hungry?”

“Hungry.” Dorian said with a bit of amusement, offering Lavellan a wry look. “I’m not sure you’re quite grasping--”

“No, listen.” Lavellan interrupted while holding up a hand and moving closer, sliding the book he’d been reading across to where Dorian could see it. “You’ll be convinced of my brilliance in a minute, trust me.”

Dorian scanned the page with a slight crease between his brow as he focused on reading and ingesting the words fast as possible. “You’re suggesting that what was created by this magister is not an elaborate spell, but instead something...alive?”

“It makes sense. Look at how the disease progresses, what it targets. First victims feel exhausted, their strength sapped as their blood is stripped of nutrients by the disease. It’s attaching itself like a tick on a halla, leeching off of it’s host. It’s magical in nature so it seeks out magic. We know exposure to healing magic makes the disease rapidly progress and get worse -- it eats the lyrium and the mana involved and grows stronger off of it.”

“That also explains why those who previously suffered red lyrium sickness were infected so much quicker. The residue left behind would be a feeding ground. It’s probably what is kickstarting the disease, giving it the power to grow and infect new hosts.” Dorian’s eyes narrowed as he thought, ringed fingers tapping across his crossed arms as he began to pace. “It makes sense. If we can get some live samples we could test this. Expose it to pure lyrium and see what happens.”

“I’ll write my Keeper and request she send some blood samples. She should check in with any of the mages or templars that are among the infected. If we’re right, the disease will spread rapidly through them, they’ll be the most at risk. That includes us, you know, if we’re to start working with live samples.”

“Yes well, good thing for us we’re capable of protecting ourselves. Tevinter has withstood many plagues, at this point we’ve mastered the ability to keep ourselves clean of disease.”

“Getting slaves to work with infectious materials instead is _not_ a viable method.” Lavellan teased with a raised brow, making the altus laugh as he put a flourishing hand over his heart.

“Oh, you _wound_ me to with such an accusation.” Dorian said with wide grin. “Like I would waste slaves on something as silly as infectious disease, when there’s blood magic rituals and hedonistic sacrifices we could hurl them at instead. It’s like you don’t even know me.”

Lavellan snickered as he prepared a piece of parchment to write a letter back to his Keeper, Dorian pouring them some wine as they drafted the letter together. Lavellan kept it formal and to the point, explaining the progress they’d made so far, their theories and what she could do to help test them. With Dorian over his shoulder he refused to add anything to respond to the personal questions his Keeper continued to ask, though part of him could easily admit that it was more of an excuse to not have to discuss them to begin with.

Lavellan sent a note ahead with a servant before they decided to retire for the evening, hoping for a hot bath to ease away the kinks and knots in his shoulders before collapsing into bed. That wish was easy enough to grant, though sometimes the stairs required to get to the baths were daunting on their own.

The bathroom was luxurious, the room located deep within the fortress, settled over a hot spring that was controlled with complex dwarven construction. Marble tiles and smoothed stone walls caught the moisture steam, all of it eventually condensing and dripping back into the bath itself.

The bath was large and spacious set into the floor, deep in the middle with ledges along the sides of varying depth, so anyone from a dwarf to a qunari could find a comfortable depth to sit at. All of these had been wild fantasy ideas Lavellan had spewed at Josephine when she had teasingly asked him what he wanted. Her biggest gift to the Inquisitor was making that fantasy come true, it was now Lavellan’s favorite place to unwind.

In the bath was Iron Bull. The result of the note he had sent ahead, just a little invitation to his qunari lover who had no doubt been asleep before receiving it. He was naked, comfortably submerged and slumped against one of the ledges, dozing in the hot water as he waited for Lavellan to arrive.

Lavellan was grinning from ear to ear as he approached, the sound of his bare feet padding across the tile cracking the qunari’s eye open. “Hey there, Kadan.” He said easily, his voice rough and grumbly, making Lavellan feel warm inside. It’d been a few days since he had heard it, it had been far too long.

“You got my message.” Lavellan beamed as he began to undress. Normally he’d make a show of it, but he was nigh desperate to get into the bath with his lover. When the last of his clothes pooled around his ankles Iron Bull outstretched his arms with a smile, receiving a lap full of naked elf immediately thereafter. “Sorry it’s so late.” He said while he nuzzled his nose across Iron Bull’s cheek, his hands looping about a thick neck. The qunari’s eyepatch was off so almost immediately Lavellan’s lips fell lightly across the thick scar tissue of his brow as he squirmed in Iron Bull’s lap.

“It’s fine, I missed you yesterday.” The qunari grunted, pulling Lavellan close as his big hands slid wet trails of heat up Lavellan’s back. “Made any progress?”

“Yeah.” Lavellan hissed as he arched against those hands. His head tipped back automatically, which presented his throat to the qunari’s attention, sharp teeth and warm tongue finding the slender tendons in his neck. “We’ve got a good theory, gonna have to wait until we hear back to know if we’re right.” His breathing hitched every time Iron Bull’s teeth nipped at his neck.

“I get some time to sink my greedy claws into you?” Iron Bull growled against tender flesh, hands settling on Lavellan’s hips comfortably. “Then I’ll take my time, tonight. Got to spend lots of time thinking about all the things I wanted to do to you when I got you alone.”

"Oh?" Lavellan smiled demurely to the warm steam of the bath, enjoying the attentions to his collar bones as his legs tightened and hitched up around Iron Bull's hips. "What kind of things are those?"

The qunari paused, lips stilling where they were on Lavellan's chest. Clearly he was considering all the things in vivid detail. "I'm going to soap you up from head to toe. Then once you're squeaky clean, I'm gonna get you _so_ dirty again."

Lavellan moaned, squirming into Iron Bull's lap to find friction, suddenly very desperate to get started. "Yes, please. _Please_."

Iron Bull smirked, catching Lavellan's eyes as he leaned back to watch the elf squirming on his lap, heavy hands falling to squeeze Lavellan's thighs. "Eager after a few days without? Did you think about this? About how much you wanted me to pin you to a wall and fuck you open with my cock?" Lavellan's desperate little noise was positive enough response because Iron Bull laughed, tucking his hands under Lavellan's ass and lifting him up as he stood up in the hot water. "Should come up and give you a real good break now and then. Think Dorian will catch on if you walk funny after all my visits?"

"Cruel qunari." Lavellan moaned as Iron Bull pried him off and turned him around, one hand palmed Lavellan's twitching length as he waded into the center of the bath after grabbing soaps and a cloth with the other. "Like I'd be able to think straight if you did that."

The qunari chuckled, pulling Lavellan tight against his body with large hands squeezing slender hips. The water lapped at Lavellan's ribcage as he leaned into the warm slick skin behind him, his own hands falling behind him as he reached to scrape dull nails gently into the thick skin of Iron Bull's thighs.

Lavellan’s body was rapidly becoming very sensitive, eager for whatever touch he could get now. Iron Bull’s hands left him to prepare a soap lathered cloth, returning to begin washing at Lavellan’s collar bones. It was a slow, careful process as the qunari carefully lathered every bit of skin, sliding down his arms and hands before returning to his chest. The slow rub over Lavellan’s nipples left them perky and sensitive to the qunari’s thumbs as he tugged them none too gently, pulling them from Lavellan’s chest until the elf whimpered under the attention.

Then down Lavellan’s torso to his stomach, an agonizing glide that left a sudsy wake everywhere but where Lavellan wanted the attention. He huffed out an annoyed breath which earned a chuckle from the qunari behind him. “Impatient, are we?” Iron Bull asked, slowly rubbing the cloth down the tops of Lavellan’s thighs. When Lavellan just let out a frustrated moan, Iron Bull held out one of his hands along the surface of the water. “Stop your whining, give me a leg.”

Lifting one of the pale limbs out he hooked his knee into the heavy grey hand, blushing when Iron Bull pulled it up high out of the water to carefully soap it up, massaging in the soap with sensual strokes before dropping the leg into the water to rinse the suds away. It was repeated on Lavellan’s other leg, the qunari turning Lavellan to face him and sliding soapy hands down the elf’s back.

“Creators, when are you going to _touch_ me?” Lavellan moaned as he thrust the hard line of his length up against Iron Bull's leg.

"I _am_ touching you, Kadan " Iron Bull chuckled, his lips curled into a smirk return Lavellan tilted his head to look up at him. "Or was there something more specific that you wanted to ask for?"

Lavellan bit back a string of curses, knowing full well that they would do nothing to sway the qunari teasing him. In fact it was much more likely Bull would simply be inspired to torture him further. Instead he suddenly sprouted a wicked smile before he ducked into the water.

Iron Bull’s hands tightened on him to attempt to thwart his escape, but the big man’s hands and Lavellan’s skin were far too slippery from the soap for him to get enough of a grip. Lavellan was laughing as he sloshed through the water, wrestling with the qunari and slipping out of his grasp to try and get behind the man.

Laughter echoed from the stone walls as a brief yet feisty wrestling match broke out. Hanging on to a soap-slick elf proved to be a challenge, the elf feeling giddy and playful, suddenly full of energy after being mauled by his qunari lover. Eventually Bull had gone to the edge of the bath to grab Lavellan’s belt out of the pile of clothes he’d left behind. Lavellan had struggled, done his best to avoid getting pinned, but eventually Iron Bull’s steady determination paid off as he snagged one Lavellan’s slender wrists, looping the belt around it and using it to regain control of his slippery charge.

Lavellan ended up pressed against Iron Bull’s hard, obviously excited body with his wrists bound together with the belt, panting heavily as Bull looped the belt around one of his own horns, securing it tightly. The end result was Lavellan pulled up onto his tip toes with his hands high above his head, fully exposed with the qunari’s hands completely free to torture as he saw fit.

“Five points, Kadan. Now I’ll just torture you twice as long as I planned.” Bull growled into the elf’s hair as he lathered big hands with soap once again.

Lavellan let out a pitiful little cry when thick fingers grabbed his ass, kneading it roughly and leaving his breath in hitching little pants. “Please, _please_ I need you to--”

“You certainly are noisy for such a dirty little elf.” Iron Bull smirked. “I’d better take care of that.”

Lavellan moaned, a smile pulling at his lips although it was quickly replaced by a cry when Bull’s thick fingers spread his cheeks roughly. Slippery with soap they slid up and down the cleft of his cheeks without any resistance, fingertips pausing to dip into the little bud of an entrance that spasmed each time, circling it eagerly.

“Beg for it, Kadan. Say ‘Please, I want you to split me open with your big fingers.’”

Lavellan groaned, rocking on the balls of his feet, pushing out his hips to try and get the finger pressed so snuggly against his little hole to _move_. “Please, Iron Bull.” He finally panted against the grey skin of Iron Bull’s torso. “Please, split me open with your big fingers!” Parroting the words, but so much breathy feeling behind them it still made the qunari suck in a breath like Lavellan had begged him out of the blue.

Iron Bull groaned, tightening his other hand around Lavellan’s waist, pulling him partially out of the water and letting some of the pressure off of his arms so that he could grind his heavy erection against Lavellan’s hip. “You know how much I love to hear you beg.” He hissed, crooking his fingertip to double the pressure on Lavellan’s tight little hole. When the elf whimpered and squirmed against him Iron Bull finally forced his thick finger inside spasming muscle, soap and water slickening the way as he pushed into his knuckle.

Lavellan cried out, whimpering and rocking down against the finger, squeezing tight around it. His pale skin was flush from excitement, from the heat of the water and the steam in the air, everything feeling exquisitely sensitive leaving him breathless as he panted helplessly against his lover. “Oh, please, more.” He whined, which just made Bull chuckle.

“Now now, we’re just washing, remember?” The qunari said before withdrawing the slick finger in order to shove it in again, shallowly fucking Lavellan in the water. Hot water made everything feel more sensitive, which made the press of a second finger into his tender opening all the more agonizing. “Just making sure you’re clean for me to play with _later_.”

It was agony knowing that the shallow fucking was the best he was going to get. Bull pressed a third finger in to stretch him, Lavellan clawing at his shoulder helplessly as he writhed on them, shallow little thrusts teasing his prostate but never quite rubbing it, pushing in slow and massaging the tight passage before pulling out abruptly, leaving Lavellan twitching and open under the water before he was suddenly filled again.

When those fingers finally withdrew and didn’t return, he mourned their loss like something sacred, left empty and needy in their wake. Iron Bull slowly lowered him, let the slender elf in his grasp get his feet underneath him before slowly turning him. Lavellan’s hands were still high up above his head, stretched out as he leaned back against Bull’s chest.

Heavy grey hands settled on his hips, more soap on them leaving a sudsy trail in their wake. Lavellan cried out when one of those hands finally sank lower, wrapping around his desperately hard length, stroking it slowly from root to tip. The other hand lowered to cup his balls, squeezing them tenderly and soaping them as well. Perhaps knowing the knife’s edge that Lavellan was on, Iron Bull did not linger overlong, did not let his stroking or tugging become anything more than clinical cleaning so as not to push him to orgasm.

Lavellan was desperately frustrated by the time Iron Bull backed towards one of the ledges, the belt still tethering him forcing the elf to follow closely. He sat down waist deep in the water and pulled Lavellan onto his lap with a strong arm around his waist. Lavellan easily spread his legs over Bull’s thighs to sit chest to chest, bound hands over one of Iron Bull’s shoulders while he leaned in to close the distance between them, pressing soft lips to the qunari’s.

They kissed for several long minutes, Iron Bull winning a heated battle for control and invading Lavellan’s mouth fully, the elf suckling the invasive tongue as it explored him. Eventually Bull pulled away, offering Lavellan a pleased grunt when the elf pressed lips to Iron Bull’s battered brow. “Hair now.” He stated plainly when Lavellan rocked against him for more, drawing a frustrated little groan from the elf.

Not that he protested much when Iron Bull was finished selecting the proper bottle of soap for the task and had lathered his hands in it. The qunari massaging his scalp, rubbing the soap through long wet hair and the feel of blunt nails scratching lightly at the back of his neck did wonders for his libido. He was making mewling little noises as he panted, tipping his head back into those big hands, rewarded with bites across his presented throat.

The qunari was thorough, when Lavellan’s hair was fully lathered he adjusted his position so that he could lean forward, slowly letting Lavellan lay back into the water. With his hands bound Lavellan struggled to get a good grip across Iron Bull’s shoulder, realizing belatedly as his legs tightened around the qunari’s waist and his fingers dug into tough skin that he was clinging on tight with the intention of staying out of the water as long as possible.

It was silly, he realized, to be this panicky over something as simple as Iron Bull tipping him back in the water to rinse his hair. Logically he understood he had literally nothing to fear, but his pulse was still picking up speed and he found himself nervous despite it all.

“You okay, Kadan?” Bull asked, his voice as light as a man coaxing a spooked wild animal.

“Y-yeah.” Lavellan forced himself to say, breathing as normally as he could. “Just being s-silly.” He stuttered a little on the last word, when he felt water touch his back and shoulders, Iron Bull keeping him just over the surface. “I trust you.” Whether his words were to convince Iron Bull or himself, Lavellan wasn’t sure.

“Nothing silly about it. You can rinse yourself if you’d rather.”

Lavellan considered it, but the conclusion he came to was simple. “No, I need to get over this.” He said, words a little rough. Iron Bull was watching him carefully, his expression nothing but serious as he eventually nodded, finding whatever he needed in Lavellan’s expression.

“Just say your word if you need me to stop.” He said, gently. He had adjusted the position he was keeping Lavellan in as he spoke, tucking an arm around the back of Lavellan’s neck so he could support him with the utmost control, his other hand resting easily at the elf’s throat, a soothing weight reminding him of just who it was he was with.

When he felt water come up around his shoulders, touching the back of his head, tickling at his ears, Lavellan’s eyes fluttered shut and he struggled against panic his entire body tensing. _Stupid. I’m being stupid._

_The ropes pulling his hands behind his back made it impossible to get the leverage to fight. When the larger elf had first pinned him to the river’s edge, Lavellan hadn’t struggled. He’d been pliant and unresisting when the ropes had bound his arms, when he’d been made helpless. If he didn’t fight, it was always easier. He’d repeated that as a mantra when his legs had been spread and his companion had thrust into him with no preparation at all._

_Maybe a little bit of fight had been what the man had wanted, though. When there was a heavy fabric suddenly pinned over his face, Lavellan’s eyes had snapped open. He’d opened his mouth to protest, to shout, but suddenly it was filled with water as it was poured into his face over the cloth. Couldn’t breathe, water hitting the back of his throat, gagging him. He’d sucked it into his lungs, started trying to scream, but regretted it when more water was dumped in his face. He’d thrashed and struggled then as it became impossible to breathe, but his arms were bound and there was nothing he could do to dislodge the bigger, stronger elf or escape the suffocating cloth._

_He’d fought and screamed, cursed and swore as soon as the cloth had been removed, finally letting him get air into his lungs. The face of his tormentor hovering over him, flushed with excitement as hips bucked mercilessly against Lavellan’s ass, looked so gods be damned pleased with himself. ‘Looks like we finally found something you’re scared of.’_

“Kadan, stay with me.” A heavy hand patted his cheek, drawing his attention roughly back to the present, where water still lapped non threateningly against the sides of his ears. He wasn’t being pushed under, he wasn’t being pinned below the surface and fucked as he struggled. He was _safe_ , secure. Once Iron Bull was sure wide green eyes were focused entirely on him the qunari moved his hand to gently begin to rinse the soap from the dark hair floating across the surface of the water.

“Eyes on me, Kadan.” He ordered gently, waiting for Lavellan to nod his agreement. When he did, the qunari dipped his head to gently kiss the elf, radiating nothing but calm and control as the elf eventually began to relax in his grip.

It wasn’t perfect, but when Iron Bull dipped him low enough into the water to rinse soap from his bangs, Lavellan didn’t object. Didn’t think about what had been done to him before, instead he was entirely focused on the way his legs were spread wide and wrapped tight around Iron Bull’s waist, his stiff cock pinned between their bodies. The way their chests pressed tight together, the way Iron Bull’s tongue teased and circled his own as they kissed.

“That’s it, Kadan. Look how good you are.” He whispered against Lavellan’s cheek when he pulled away to let the elf breathe. “You trust me so much, I got you. Nothing’s going to hurt you when I’m here.”

Praise so sweet and honest that Lavellan soaked it up and let it warm him right to his very core. His eyes felt wet but he ignored it, instead arching up against Iron Bull’s body and seeking out more kisses. His hair was completely under the water, soap suds drifting away through the grate on the far side of the tub, cycled away by the steady flow of the spring. “I trust you, the Iron Bull.” He whispered sweetly against lips, and the qunari smiled against them.

“Yeah? Want me to show you how much you trust me? Want to see how good you are?”

Lavellan knew what he meant, understood that it would test his limits completely. Instead of shying from it and giving into his fear he nodded instead, offered a shy smile when Iron Bull stoked wet hair from his forehead.

Iron Bull's arm stayed snug against the back of his neck as his thick hand tangled in the hair floating in the water beneath Lavellan. Tangling itself amongst the long dark strands, Iron Bull used that firm grip to slowly, steadily, pull Lavellan’s head beneath the water.

Lavellan tensed when he felt the water come up over his forehead, lapping at his cheek bones, the elf tipping his head to keep his mouth above the water, taking a big breath of air.

_Gasping for air before that fierce grip in his hair shoved his face under the water again, the current of the river beating across his face, icy cold and making him scream into the watery dark as all the air he’d managed to get into his lungs was sucked away instead._

_Rough lips against his, so tender and gentle, a soft, assured promise that Iron Bull was right there with him._

Lips claiming his own in a kiss snapped Lavellan out of his own mind, the affection and the tenderness so completely at odds with his memory that it simply could not exist at the same time. He whimpered into the kiss, returning it with everything he had as his head was finally pulled completely under.

Iron Bull didn’t stop kissing him. The qunari’s face was below the surface of the water now too, but he didn’t falter for a moment as he slowly devoured Lavellan’s mouth like nothing had changed, like water wasn’t filling their mouths. Like there was absolutely nothing to be worried about. Only a few inches below the surface, but it was all it would have usually taken for Lavellan to pitch into a full panic. Instead he found himself squirming against Iron Bull’s body, desperate for more than just the kiss.

Before he could run out of breath, before the fact that water was flooding his mouth as much as Iron Bull’s tongue really had a chance to sink in, the qunari was pulling him back up out of the water. Lavellan gasped for air, spitting out water as their lips parted momentarily, but as soon as he had a lungfull of air Iron Bull was on him again. Arms wrapped around him tightly, the qunari saying little words of praise and affection before stealing Lavellan’s lips.

The qunari had lifted him up, waded back to the shallowest ledge and deposited Lavellan onto it, only a couple of inches of water above the smooth carved marble, before he finally pulled away and eyed Lavellan closely. The elf was panting for breath but it was the kisses that had stolen his air, not fear or panic or _water._

“You good, Kadan?” He asked softly, smoothing heavy hands through long wet hair, finger combing it absently. Lavellan noticed that the qunari had detached the leather belt from his own horn, leaving Lavellan’s hands free to fall into his lap though they were still bound together. “You did so good.”

“It was fine.” Lavellan said softly, before his lips pulled upwards and he broke into a beaming smile. “I’ve never kissed someone underwater before.”

Iron Bull returned the smile, leaning down to bump his forehead gently against the elf’s. “I don’t think I have either, now that you mention it. Very wet business.”

Lavellan nuzzled his nose across the qunari’s, surprised to find that his body was coming down from a bit of an adrenaline high, relaxing and letting go of pent up stress all at once. “We can do more, if you want. You hardly pushed me--”

“It was enough, Kadan. To prove your past has no more power over you, that’s enough. There’s plenty of other things one can do with a pretty elf.”

Lavellan was relieved despite himself, touched that the qunari cared so deeply for him, excited at what the man had in mind for him now. It was the strangest bundle of emotion curled in his belly and he let out a laugh, deciding to focus on the lightness he was feeling. “Oh? Tell me more about these things.”

Iron Bull chuckled before he plucked Lavellan’s hands up, carefully unbuckling the belt and massaging wrists where the leather had rubbed. When he was done he pulled an oilskin cushion from the alcove where most of the bathing supplies were kept, putting it on the ledge Lavellan was sitting on. The leather was carefully designed to be completely waterproof, offering padding when one wanted to lounge in comfort. It was enough to support Lavellan’s head and keep it completely out of the water while the elf laid down.

“I want you to lay out on your stomach, cheek on the cushion.” Iron Bull ordered. While Lavellan stretched out his legs across the ledge to obey, the qunari dangled a vial of warm smelling oil between his fingers. “I’m going to rub you down in oil and work you until you beg.”

“That won’t take long.” Lavellan sighed against the oilskin, bringing his arms up to cradle the pillow, relaxed fully in the shallow water that lapped at his sides. “Can I just start begging now?”

“Cheeky elf.” Iron Bull chuckled while he hefted himself out of the deeper water, straddling Lavellan’s legs carefully, more than able to support his own weight so as not to crush the small elf beneath him. “You only _think_ you’re desperate for it right now, I’ll show you the true meaning of the word.”

As oil drizzled across his back Lavellan’s eyes fluttered shut and he moaned when huge hands spread it across pale skin, covering the expanse of his shoulders down to the base of his spine in one, slow motion. Iron Bull leaned over him to nibble at freckled shoulders momentarily before straightening up again to rub warm hands back up Lavellan’s spine.

When the oil appeared to be spread to his satisfaction the qunari slid his hands beneath the elf, carefully lifting him up, arching his slender back into a flexible bow as his hands smoothed slick oil down his front. Lavellan moaned as fingertips trailed across his chest, but when they found his nipples the moan was quickly turned into a cry. Fingers tugged the fleshy little nubs until they stung, pinching them just hard enough to make Lavellan wail, his voice echoing throughout the room, chased by Iron Bull’s appreciative groan.

The sting was followed by a dull ache as the quickly reddening little nubs were pinched and pulled further, finally slick hands abandoning their aching targets to slide lower. They smoothed down his stomach before Lavellan lifted his hips, hoping desperately that the qunari would take hold of his desperately twitching length. Instead Iron Bull chuckled against his ear as he gently tugged it down with the lightest of grips, letting Lavellan settle back onto the warm marble of the ledge, his stiff cock pointed down towards his toes, pinned between his body and the hard tiles, the only thing capable of distracting him from where his tender nipples pushed into the unyielding stone.

 _Agony_.

Iron Bull began a massage that left Lavellan breathless, huge fingers pressing firmly into tense muscles, rubbing away any ache that was left behind. Lavellan’s shoulders and back had been tight from stooping over his notes and research for so long, leaving the elf moaning hopelessly as those muscles were soothed with complete skill.

Periodically Iron Bull would take a break to run slick fingertips down Lavellan’s spine, sliding between the cleft of his ass to press fingertips to his hole for a moment before returning to the massage. It left Lavellan an incoherent mess, the elf slumped into the cushion under his head, eagerly accepting of whatever his qunari chose to bestow on him next.

Once Lavellan’s back had been thoroughly massaged Iron Bull picked up the belt again, drawing Lavellan’s attention from the blissful haze he was trapped in. “Hands behind your back.” The qunari ordered firmly, Lavellan quickly complying.

His cheek pressed hard to the oilskin while he pulled his arms behind him, Iron Bull quickly boxing them, wrist to elbows under his shoulder blades. Slender forearms were pressed together, the belt looping around them several times before being tightened to keep him in place. It left his lower back completely exposed while Lavellan was helpless to fend off Iron Bull’s hands in any way. Which meant the real teasing was going to begin.

Lavellan moaned when thick fingers squeezed down his sides, stroking the curve of his lower back before cupping the cheeks of his ass and squeezing the handfuls pleasantly. Hot lips kissed their way down his spine, Iron Bull shifting behind him so that he could press his lips to Lavellan’s tailbone while his thumbs slid between Lavellan’s cheeks to dig into the pucker of his entrance with slick movements. It was a slow tease of pressure, not enough to fully penetrate but enough to make Lavellan twitch and ache, whimper pitifully to the humid air around him and rock his hips in hopes that Iron Bull would have mercy on him.

It never worked. The qunari’s hands instead began to massage Lavellan’s upper thighs and glutes with the same care that he had massaged Lavellan’s shoulders, digging his fingers into fleshy muscle and squeezing it into submission. When fingers would spread Lavellan’s cheeks wide to expose the slicked pucker of muscle of his entrance, the sound of the qunari chuckling as the sensitive flesh quivered under his attention made Lavellan long for more.

“What a pretty little pucker, all pink and flushed. Such a tiny little thing.” The qunari groaned, before dipping his head to lick and suckle eagerly at said pucker, dipping his tongue into it to fuck it shallowly with the point. Lavellan cried out, squirming uselessly as he was pinned into place, clenching tightly around the slippery invader as he was tongued, body too relaxed and slick to resist in any way.

“Please, please don’t stop.” Lavellan panted, rocking his hips backwards. He should have known that begging would have the opposite effect of what he wanted right now, the qunari smiling against his most intimate areas before he squeezed Lavellan’s hips and left Lavellan’s hole with one teasing little lick.

When Iron Bull pulled away he chuckled at the way Lavellan’s muscles flexed, the way his hole twitched and tightened, left miserably empty yet again. He pressed a oil slick knuckle to it, teasing it with with continued pressure. “I can think of one big thing I’d love to cram into this tight little hole.” Iron Bull declared with a pleased grin, amused with the way Lavellan rocked back against his hand. “I love to see it stretched right out around my cock. It’s amazing such a tiny little thing can take me.” He said this while finally pressing a finger inside, teasing Lavellan’s prostate almost immediately as he crooked his finger to find it. “Who could imagine something so pretty could be so hungry?”

Lavellan tried to say something, tried to argue with the qunari, try and reason with him to make him hurry and stop teasing him. However the words were leaving his mouth in moans instead, his breath hitching as he panted, having problems thinking let alone communicating. The eager little pleas were the best he could do. _Please, please. I want more…_

One finger turned to two, scissoring inside of him and rocking in and out, leaving Lavellan slick and opened as he relaxed as he let go and let it happen. When a third finger was added his cries were getting a little more desperate, just as close to the edge as he was the first time tonight Iron Bull had split him open like this, eager and desperate for the qunari to give him something even better.

Iron Bull pulled his fingers out when Lavellan’s desperate rocking seemed to reach it’s peak, the noises the little elf made as pitiful as a wounded creature, crying for mercy and cursing Iron Bull’s existence in the same breath. Lavellan’s hole was slick and tempting, open and ready, driving the qunari bent over him to absolute madness as he restrained himself, torturing himself as much as he was torturing Lavellan, drawing out both of their suffering.

He finally pulled Lavellan’s hips up with strong hands, lining him up with his own. His length laid out across Lavellan’s ass, hot and heavy and twitching, leaking profusely as Lavellan rolled his hips invitingly. It always seemed so big like this, amazing he could fit it inside the elf he was sliding it against. No wonder Lavellan could so quickly be overwhelmed by their rutting when he was filled by something the size of his wrist.

“ _Please_.” The elf was crying, head down and ass up, looking broken and desperate and wanton, nothing in his mind except how badly he wanted his lover’s cock inside of him -- exactly what Iron Bull had intended. “Please fuck me, please…”

There was only so much Iron Bull could take before even his composure cracked. Lavellan arching his back, rocking back and forth as Iron Bull pressed his thick cock between the soft curves of his ass wasn’t something he could stay impassive to. He groaned and let his head fall back as he simply enjoyed for a few moments, letting his greedy elf take all that he could, unable to move enough to get anything satisfying.

When he could take no more Iron Bull grabbed one hip with one hand, stilling the elf completely, the other grabbing his own length to line it up with the slick little hole dripping with oil.

“You want my cock, little elf?” Iron Bull growled, his voice rough as gravel. When Lavellan cried out a yes, rolled his hips, the qunari grinned, a sharp canine catching on his lip as he grit his teeth. “Then take it, swallow it up in that greedy little ass.”

Dirty words that made Lavellan’s entire body shudder in Iron Bull’s grip, the elf desperately rocking himself back without the use of his bound arms. The oil made everything slick and easy, but the sheer size of the qunari’s cock made it difficult for Lavellan to push back on it, struggling for several long seconds to open himself up. Iron Bull was patient despite the agony of a tight little hole slowly squeezing the flared head of his length, he resisted the urge to grab Lavellan’s hips and shove.

It was worth it when the elf finally managed to rock back hard enough for the thick head to pop inside of him, letting out moan that came from his toes, whimpering pathetically as he leaned back on his knees to take more. When he shallowly began to fuck himself, Iron Bull finally lost it and took control.

He curled a heavy arm underneath Lavellan’s chest, pulling the elf tight to his body while his other hand grabbed Lavellan’s hip. With little ceremony he pulled the elf back hard until the curve of Lavellan’s ass was tight against his balls, until the elf was crying out in mindless breaths and his cock was pulsing hard inside the vice grip of muscle he was speared into.

His name became a mantra spilled from elven lips, breathy moans puffed hard as he pulled out part way only to shove back in again. Each time he did, Lavellan writhed in his grip, spasmed on his cock as he cried out obscenities. There was nothing better than this, than fucking someone so hungry for you that they couldn’t form words. Of being so desperately _wanted_ that every thrust was treated like a gift to be thankful for.

He lifted the elf in his arms to get to his feet, his length still buried deep within Lavellan as he moved them. He deposited Lavellan up on the smooth tile of the bathroom floor, the elf’s chest and shoulders bearing his weight while Iron Bull covered his body with his own, hands digging into Lavellan’s hips hard enough to leave colorful red marks behind.

Like that, he finally had enough momentum to simply _let go._ They rutted on the floor, Lavellan screaming into the tile every time one of Iron Bull’s nearly violent thrusts rocked his body. When Lavellan’s legs lost their strength Iron Bull simply carried his weight in big hands tight around Lavellan’s middle, keeping the poor elf skewered and helpless. Lavellan thrashed when his came, his scream hoarse and rough as he spasmed and clamped tight enough around Iron Bull’s cock that the qunari saw stars.

“You’re so tight.” Iron Bull growled, a string of curses spilling from his mouth. “ _Mine._ This little ass is mine to fill and fuck whenever I want.” Lavellan panted his agreement, too boneless to struggle so instead he focused on fluttering and clenching his ass around the qunari, driving his lover closer and closer to the brink as he milked him with wanton abandon.

_Please, fill my little ass with your cum._

The words were weak and breathy, so _filthy_ Iron Bull wasn’t sure he could ever expect Lavellan to say them any louder, even if his voice hadn’t been completely wrecked. He roared his approval as orgasm overcame him, ploughing himself as deep as he could as he spurted thick ropes of seed deep into the spasming sheath of Lavellan’s ass. Days of waiting for a chance to bed the elf made his orgasm all the more intense, the qunari groaning eagerly as he slowly rocked his hips back and forth, riding out the aftershocks as he continued to jerk and spurt more seed inside his lovers body.

Long minutes passed before he finally became coherent enough to tend the crumpled little body that was pinned underneath him. Lavellan’s ass up in the air still stuffed full of Iron Bull’s half hard cock, the rest of him a boneless slump, his cheek pressed to the warm tile of the floor, mouth ajar and slightly drooling as he panted and whimpered.

“Feels so good.” Lavellan finally whimpered when Iron Bull began to unstrap the belt from around his arms. “Everything’s all tingly, right to my toes.” He whimpered. He didn’t protest as Iron Bull slowly straightened out his arms while rubbing shoulders slick with oil and sweat to drive away any aches, still lodged inside his lover.

When the elf could get his hands under him enough to support his weight, Iron Bull slowly hauled him towards the edge of the bath, stepping back into the water himself. He slowly pulled his stiffening length out to leave Lavellan’s legs hanging over the edge of the bath with his ass exposed, the elf completely pliant as he stayed where he was put.

It gave Iron Bull perfect view of the mess he’d made, the way Lavellan’s little hole fluttered and spasmed where his cock had just been, trying to grip onto something that was no longer there, muscles tightening uselessly. It was enough to begin to work some of the thick seed out of Lavellan, a sticky dripping mess that trickled down the flushed swell of Lavellan’s balls, filthy and depraved and _perfect._

Iron Bull spread Lavellan’s ass with a hand on each cheek, using the flat of his tongue to lap away the mess slowly dripping down Lavellan’s sensitive skin before circling the elf’s little hole teasingly. Once the elf had curled his arms under his head, biting his knuckle to stifle his moans, Iron Bull grinned and thrust his tongue inside of his lover with ease. Lavellan’s face burned as the qunari’s lips and tongue assaulted him without the least bit of shame or hesitation, the elf’s cock twitching eagerly as he rocked back for more, his hole still tender and sensitive and so susceptible to the pleasurable teasing.

The way the elf squirmed against the qunari’s mouth only spurred Iron Bull harder. He was skilled with his thick tongue, knew exactly how to twist and thrust it into Lavellan’s body to wreck the most havoc on his nerves, leaving the elf clawing uselessly at the tile while he whimpered and begged for more.

While his mouth was busy one of Iron Bull’s hands left the elf’s rump to slide beneath him, teasing the hard flesh he found there. Lavellan’s cock jerked in a heavy grey fist as Iron Bull engulfed it within his grip, squeezing tightly and quickly bringing Lavellan to the edge of his orgasm. The elf was too boneless to fight or help, instead he could only wail his surrender as he begged for more.

Iron Bull didn’t disappoint, jerking Lavellan while he rocked back and forth against Iron Bull’s mouth. The qunari’s breathing was harsh, his chest heaving as he panted for breath air time Lavellan leaned forward, his muscled body shining with sweat and steam, his massive length jutting from the waist deep water jerking now and then as it dripped with precum.

The elf came undone, his voice echoing throughout the room as he trembled and came within Iron Bull’s grasp. A stream of pearly fluid dribbled across the qunari’s knuckles as he milked the sweaty elf for every drop. Iron Bull released his length after that, withdrawing his tongue  as he straightened up and stretched his back out, stiff from being hunched over the elf. When he was done stretching he looked down to admire the elf collapsed against the tile in front of him, running a soothing hand across Lavellan’s spine and pushing away the dark hair stuck to it.

He couldn’t help but appreciate that the elf was at perfect waist height, so relaxed and pliant and boneless where he lay. Groaning the qunari cast about for the oil, finding the bottle where he’d discarded it on the tile near the edge of the bath. It only took him a second to oil himself back up, leaning upwards as he tucked his hands under Lavellan’s hips, eagerly sliding himself back into that clenching little hole.

He pushed in with one long thrust that left his balls pressed tight to Lavellan’s, his lips pulling into a grin when Lavellan _screamed_ into the floor he was draped over. He couldn’t last long which he was sure Lavellan was thankful for, but the time spent thrusting deep into the trembling elf, listening to his lover shout himself hoarse as he clenched hard as a vice around Iron Bull’s cock, made it completely worth it.

He finished with a low growl, covering Lavellan’s shivering body with his own and pulling the little elf tight to his chest, praising him with sweet words and warm hands, petting his hair and rubbing his skin soothingly as he pulled out and carried Lavellan to a ledge appropriate for sitting, slumping his back into the wall of the bath with a satisfied groan as he let the hot water splash around them.

His tongue and jaw were sore from steady use, his knees ached and somehow a bony elven elbow was digging into his solar plexus, but Iron Bull couldn’t have been more content. Soft lips fell across his collarbones as the elf in his lap sleepily showed his appreciation, slender hands wrapping around Iron Bull’s neck and hugging him close.

The qunari used the soapy cloth to wash away his mess this time, having mercy on the elf and not teasing his sensitive body any further. When Lavellan fell asleep in the water, snoring softly into Iron Bull’s chest the qunari couldn’t help but chuckle to himself. All the adrenaline had worn away, leaving the exhausted elf completely spent.

When he was satisfied that the evidence of their sins had been cleaned he wrapped the elf in a towel and carried him upstairs. When deposited into bed, Lavellan woke up for several groggy seconds, reaching out for Iron Bull as the man readied for sleep.

“Bull?” He mumbled sleepily as the bed shifted while Iron Bull arranged himself.

“I’m here, Kadan.” He responded, his voice gentle and relaxed, the elf smiling at the tone as he squirmed to snuggle against Iron Bull’s side. “Feel good?”

“I do.” Lavellan whispered into the side of Iron Bull’s ribs. “Filthy qunari…”

It was murmured with so much affection that Iron Bull laughed, curling his arm tight around the elf and slumping contentedly into the soft bed. “Get some rest, Kadan. You’ll need it later when I decide I want to go again.”

Lavellan shivered at the promise, knowing full well it was no idle threat. With Iron Bull’s arm as a pillow Lavellan sunk into dreams again immediately, drooling slightly with drying hair plastered everywhere, but perfectly content.

He awoke to the feeling of three oil-slick fingers sinking deep inside of him, scissoring and twisting as they were thrust in and out. He moaned loudly as he rapidly became aware of his surroundings, of how he was pinned between Iron Bull and the mattress, that the qunari was eager instead of patient and slow as he’d been in the baths.

He fumbled to brace himself as fingers were suddenly withdrawn to be replaced with something much more substantial, crying out and gripping the sheets tight as he was suddenly wrenched into wakefulness. When he tipped his head back to moan again, thick fingers pressed into his mouth, flattening against his tongue and encouraging him to suckle them sweetly as he was pounded. His cries were muffled by his mouthful of fingers and they were both left in a sweaty tangle of limbs when they were done, Lavellan shakily stroking hands down Iron Bull’s sides as he was showered with praise in the form of kisses and sweet whispers.

His sleep was uninterrupted after that, simply because he was too worn out and content to awaken the next time Iron Bull rolled on top of him to take advantage of a relaxed loose hole still slick with his seed. The morning was spent in a lazy haze, being fucked by fingers and tongue as much as cock, Iron Bull making up for too much time spent away, taking advantage of the break in Lavellan’s workload before messengers arrived and he was drawn back into his work.

Dorian was leaning a hip against the desk their research was spread out on when Lavellan trotted down to meet him, a glass of fine wine balanced lightly in one hand, a newly received letter in the other. He looked up from his reading in time to see Lavellan stretch languidly as he approached the table.

“My, someone is certainly looking _rested_.” Dorian drawled with an elegantly raised brow and a knowing smirk on his lips. “No question what one of us was doing with their free morning.”

Instead of being ashamed or flustered by the friendly accusation Lavellan grinned at the ‘vint, a devilish gleam in his eyes. “Not _just_ this morning. Most of the night as well. Very virile partners, qunari.”

“ _Kaffas._ ” Dorian choked, setting down his wine with a glare in Lavellan’s direction as he composed himself. “That was more than I ever needed to know.”

“Yes, of course. A delicate mage flower from Tevinter’s upper class would be innocent in such matters.” Lavellan was grinning wickedly from ear to ear as he spoke, baiting Dorian with a teasing tone. “I couldn’t imagine the political hoops one would have to jump through to bed another in your homeland. Is there much paperwork involved?”

Dorian was grinning now as well. Perhaps he had considered speaking the truth, admitting he was no innocent or convincing Lavellan otherwise, but their friendly banter was easier. “Ah yes, the paperwork. Not near as involved as the blood magic rituals, though. Halfway through _those_ you’re ready to say piss on it and spend the night drinking alone instead.”

“Oh? A little blood magic required to get it up?”

Dorian snorted, immune to Lavellan’s cheeky grin as he picked up his wine again. “It’s probably the only thing to get one’s blood moving when you must create a child with someone you hate.”

Lavellan made a face, unsure if Dorian was serious or not at that point. “Ugh. I’ll stick with having sex for fun.”

“Don’t let The Iron Bull hear you say that, the brute might not have figured out yet how unlikely it is you’ll produce an ‘Iron Calf’ or two for him.”

Lavellan laughed, his giggles breaking into snorts and sounding entirely undignified, much to his friend’s amusement. Though he’d taken the letter from Dorian with full intentions to begin to read it, he was laughing far too much to focus. “I _am_ the Herald of Andraste. If anyone could pull that stunt, it’d be me. That should encourage him to keep trying.”

“Well, I have heard that trying is the best part.” Dorian said with an airy sort of laugh. “Just rumors I’ve picked up, of course. Don’t go thinking I’d have ever sullied myself with the common rabble.” The perfect amount of arrogance, sarcasm and charm, the expert mask that Dorian wore. Lavellan smiled from ear to ear as he watched the ‘vint preen.

“Of course. We common rabble mourn what will never be ours as we console each other in creative, dirty ways. We’ll stay out of sight so you don’t start craving those blood rituals of yours.”

“Kaffas, you’re incorrigible.” Dorian snickered, turning his attention to his wine. “Do try and _focus_ , that letter is terribly important.”

“Yes Mum.” Lavellan teased, though he finally let his quips die on his tongue so he could begin to read the careful scrawl across the parchment in his hand.

It _was_ important. Confirmation from his Keeper that they were onto something. The disease struck mages and templars much harder than regular citizens, though not as hard as those who had been infected with red lyrium previously. Multiple blood samples were being taken from a variety of patients and would be sent as soon as possible. Heartfelt thanks for their efforts and a promise that she would write again shortly.

At the bottom a plea to him, that as valuable as his help was to her she did not want him to use it as a shield to hide from his clan.

“Good news for us all around.” Dorian said brightly when Lavellan looked up from the letter. “Not that it’ll be any easier to work with, but now we have a good place to begin. I did some reading last night to get a head start, if you want to have a look at what I’ve found.” Dorian nodded his head towards some of the notes on the table. ' _Some_ reading' had yielded more research than Lavellan could come up with in several days. Dorian certainly wasn’t approaching this half heartedly.

“Now you’re making me feel bad for taking as much time as I did.” Lavellan said as he came to Dorian’s side, leafing through the notes.

“Nonsense. I enjoy this type of thing.” Dorian said pleasantly, before tilting his head. “Your Keeper seems to be wanting more from you than formal reports of our progress.”

“Nothing you can help with, I’m afraid.” Lavellan said tightly, lifting up the first page of notes. They were numbered and carefully organized. There were notes about the notes in the margins. Lavellan let out an impressed whistle. “I hope there isn’t a test after I’ve read this.”

“I’d imagine sitting quietly and studying was not a trait often encouraged by the Dalish, hmm?” Dorian laughed, though he was still very focused on Lavellan, alert and studious, trying to find some answer to whatever riddle he had posed regarding the elf. “Does your clan have problems with you being the Inquisitor?” This time Dorian went straight for the throat, no dancing around the question. Lavellan let out a sigh when he realized Dorian wasn’t going to let the matter drop.

“No. They should, but they don’t. I promise Mother Giselle is not going to confront you with letters from my Keeper and a plan to kidnap me back to the Free Marches. This is...different.”

“Each of her letters to you has had some kind of personal aside at the end. Each of your letters to her are about as formal as one could possibly make them--”

“Dorian.” Lavellan’s voice had almost a pleading tone to it. “I hardly see how this concerns you--”

“I am no stranger to avoiding personal matters regarding one’s homeland.” Dorian said firmly, plucking the papers Lavellan was trying to read out of his hands, forcing the elf to turn and give him his full attention. “I want to understand why. She doesn’t appear to be asking you to go back to the life you had before. If anything it appears she’s looking for guidance.”

“I don’t think I am in any position to give guidance to a--”

“On the contrary, I think you are in the _best_ position.” Dorian interrupted. Lavellan blinked when a ringed hand fell to his shoulder, Dorian peering down at him with such intensity that he was startled by the contact. “I think you are the only one who could change things. Not only have you changed how people perceive a Dalish elf, but now you can change how the Dalish interact with the world as a whole.”

“One clan does not determine--”

“You really think I’m that blind? I was there when we met the clan on the Exalted Plains. I saw how they treated you, what they said to you. Clans are talking about you. Eventually even the Dalish have to realize that stagnation means extinction.”

Lavellan didn’t say anything for several long moments, refusing to meet Dorian’s gaze and biting his lip as he fidgeted. Eventually the ‘vint had mercy on him and stepped away, giving the elf room to breathe. “You’d think you’d have enough on your plate revolutionizing Tevinter.” Lavellan finally teased with a weak little smile.

“Ah well, you know me.” Dorian said with a breathy sort of grin. “Better be careful or people might start thinking I care about something other than myself.”

Lavellan wanted to say something sappy, wanted to tell Dorian how beautiful his mind was, how tender the blinding optimism of which he looked at the world with was. Instead he sighed, staring at the letter on the desk with a sad look. “I worry that my people _would_ follow my example. They would extend themselves to a society which hates them and be burned for their trouble. It’s a beautiful sentiment, but I…”

“Yes well, give it some time.” Dorian said, patting Lavellan’s shoulder and handing the page of notes he’d confiscated back to the elf. “That’s what this Inquisition is all about, correct? Fixing the broken system. What takes it place is what _you_ decide. There’s something powerful in that.”

“But no pressure, right?” Lavellan snorted, rubbing his forehead and returning to his reading. “This morning I had almost managed to forget I was responsible for the fate of Southern Thedas. Thank you for reminding me.”

“Happy to help! Now, just so you know, there actually _is_ a test when you’re done reading those notes. I’ll fill you in when you’re done.”

Lavellan groaned and reached for the wine Dorian had been nursing, deciding it was going to be a long day. Gods willing, they’d be ready for the samples when they arrived.

\---

They weren’t ready. They had a good working theory, but when they first began to dissect and study the samples that were sent to them they discovered that a lot that they had assumed was completely wrong. The type of magic that had created the virus, for instance. They’d assumed some kind of blood magic, perhaps entropy. Instead they were rapidly discovering that instead it seemed to be some kind of healing magic that had been twisted terribly. Perhaps it’s original purpose to wipe out corruption or taint within a body, only turned to attack the body itself instead.

Lavellan’s fingers were covered in ink and his eyes were strained from reading late into the day. It felt like it’d been far too long since he’d slept, but they’d found that the virus only lived so long in their samples before it died and they were left to start again. Learning how to keep it alive was the highest priority. Well, keep it alive _safely_. Because feeding it raw lyrium had ended _very_ badly. When Dorian had carefully noted that a lyrium miner would be likely to explode on infection, Lavellan had given him a _That’s not very helpful_ look which didn’t seem to have any effect.

When they’d sent a note that the templars infected should refrain from taking lyrium while they were ill, the Keeper returned the message to sadly inform them that the remaining few templars who had been infected had passed away already. Knowing that people were dieing while they struggled to understand something only motivated them to work harder, passing up sleep to research instead.

“ _Venhedis_!” The sudden curse made Lavellan jump, the elf sheepishly realizing that he had almost been dozing over the book he was examining. “Blood, really? The glorious Dorian Pavus, struck down by a letter opener. That’s what my grave will say.”

Dorian was grumbling loudly while he nursed a wounded finger, the trickle of blood nothing to get excited over, but Dorian always had a flair for the dramatic. “Do you need to be supervised while using sharp objects, Pavus?” Lavellan asked dryly, rubbing his eyes to try and chase away the sleepiness behind them.

“Quiet, you. Save your scathing wit for a time when I’m _not_ bleeding out.”

“Creators, you’re fine.” Lavellan said with an exasperated smile, standing in front of Dorian and holding out his hand expectantly. “Let me see this injury of yours, I’ll decide whether I need to call the healers.”

“Your southern healers would leave me lame and cripple.” Dorian declared, even as he meekly laid his hand into Lavellan’s. His finger was sliced, deep enough to draw a surprising amount of blood, but certainly not enough to truly bother the ‘vint.

“So fussy.” Lavellan chastised softly, before bringing Dorian’s hand to his mouth, curling the exposed finger forward and pressing his lips to it smoothly. The little amount of magic used had no visual effect, simply a warmth that spread through Dorian’s finger and left the cut completely healed. “All better now, da’len.” Lavellan used a handkerchief from his pocket to dab away the blood before patting the man’s hand with a gentle gesture and raising his head to meet Dorian’s gaze.

Dorian was watching him with a foreign expression, cheeks flushed and eyes heated. It caught Lavellan completely off guard, unsure of what had sparked the strange reaction. “Speechless? If I had known it was so easy to shut you up all this time…”

“The phrase ‘Kissing it better’ usually does not imply actual healing magic.” Dorian accused, trying to compose himself and failing, his mask fraying around the edges. Possibly because Lavellan was still holding his hand, the ‘vints fingers warm where lips had been. “Honestly I’m surprised, I’ve never seen you heal anything before.”

“Had it been any bigger a wound, I could have taken your whole hand off instead. I’m not very good at keeping my magic constructive.” Lavellan admitted, grinning when Dorian made an uncomfortable sound and snatched his hand away. “A whole lot of thanks I get.” The elf sniffed.

“Thank you.” Dorian said after a pause, still looking so amusingly off kilter that Lavellan found himself watching the ‘vint with a curious smile.

“I saved you from a life threatening assault by a letter opener. You might not want to spread that around.” Lavellan snickered before returning to his reading. He didn’t notice that Dorian was distractedly watching him now, sneaking looks from the corner of his eye as the ‘vint considered how warm Lavellan’s lips had felt pressed to his skin. Completely oblivious to the potent rush of temptation and guilt that had a uniquely _Tevinter_ brand of suffering attached to it.

Late in the following day they made a breakthrough. This time it was Dorian who had jerked upright from where he had been slouching exhausted in his chair. “I’ve got it! Genius, really. I’d bet your money I’m right about this.”

“ _My_ money? How confident of you.” Lavellan joked, though he was eager to hear any new ideas, his own starting to sink into a spiral that was getting him nowhere.

“Silence, you.” Dorian scoffed. “Like I’d bet Inquisition funds without knowing it was a sure thing.” As he spoke, the ‘vint was laying out the book he’d been reading, pulling up some parchment and beginning to scratch out notes onto it with a overused quill. “It’s simple, really. The creator of this disease made something that seeks to devour the things a body needs to survive and the magic that could destroy it. So _we_ create something too. Something designed to hunt _it._ ”

“Can we even do that? We don’t even know how the magister created a disease in the blood yet.”

“The texts I’ve had sent to me from Tevinter answer that. There are new findings in the medical field that theorize that many diseases in the body are actually caused by tiny little things in our blood, but also that our blood has tiny little things in it that fight back.”

“So we create something based off of those.”

“Exactly. He evolved what was already in the body with magic, twisted something already corrupt. So we evolve something that’s already designed to fight off disease. We’re going to need more samples from Wycome, please do tell your Keeper. For now we need to prepare, go through these texts together and pull out everything that will be of value. Once we have a plan, we’ll probably need to recruit a mage with more experience in healing. They’ll have a natural ability working with the functions of the body, of course.”

So Lavellan sent the message to his Keeper explaining their plan and requesting the samples. They took their meal hunched over the desk as they worked on their notes and plans together, drawing up theories to test once their samples had arrived.

Their desk and chairs became so covered in books and papers that Lavellan eventually moved to the floor in front of the fireplace, their firewood had long since burned up leaving them with nothing but magical flame to give them both light and warmth. Eventually Dorian joined him, complaining loudly about the rough rug they sat upon and the lack of comfortable seating in their room.

Lavellan promised to have furniture moved in, though the thought was forgotten almost as immediately as he promised it, far too focused on his reading. Sitting side by side they added to each other’s notes and argued over theories late into the night. Finally Lavellan found himself reading the same line multiple times, barely comprehending the words in front of him.

“What time is it?” He mumbled with a yawn, rubbing his eyes blearily to try and focus them.

“Late, I suppose. It’s been dark out for a while. Fading?”

“I might need a little nap.” Lavellan said tiredly, setting the book down in front of him and giving Dorian a bleary look. Green eyes were all the more vivid when his eyes were so red from exhaustion. “Just gonna...shut my eyes for a minute.” He explained as he leaned to the side, resting his head against Dorian’s shoulder and slumping against the larger mage.

Dorian chuckled as the elf almost immediately fell asleep, feeling the tugs of exhaustion himself but fighting them with determination. Despite the fact that it took packages days to pass between Skyhold and Wycome they would be pressed for time once the samples arrived, having to do all of their testing before they died out. Better to have all their ducks in a row before the real crunch began.

The elf leaned harder against him as he fell deeper into sleep, the chances of it being just a light nap diminishing by the minute as he slipped farther down Dorian’s arm. “Don’t complain that I’m not a satisfactory pillow.” Dorian grumbled, though a bit of a smile pulled at the corner of his lips. When Lavellan seemed to settle in comfortably against him the ‘vint sighed and decided to leave it be. The elf looked worn down with dark smudges under his reddened eyes and a paleness that attested to lack of sleep more than his usual coloration. It wouldn’t do to wake him up and deny him the chance to rest.

He finished writing down the useful effects of certain healing magic upon blood cells before flipping the page to the next chapter, letting out a tired groan as he stretched and considered just how eager he was to dig into the effects of spirit healing next. Maybe just a short break for his eyes. When he stretched Lavellan grumbled as he was dislodged from Dorian’s shoulder, sleepy green eyes opening long enough to look accusing at the other mage.

“Really? You drooled on my shoulder.” Dorian said, though the accusing look did not go away. “Fine, grumpy.” Dorian huffed, before he leaned back to rest his back against the squared leg of the table behind him. “You win, come here.” The elf obeyed, and with little guidance from Dorian ended up sprawled across the carpet with his head propped against Dorian’s lap. It seemed considerably more comfortable for the Inquisitor offered a pleased sort of hum and words definitely in elven before he promptly fell back to sleep.

Picking through his notes in one hand, Dorian found himself watching Lavellan’s face as the elf slept instead. He was unable to suppress a soft little smile at the innocence across the smaller man’s face. Who knew how he did it, looking so peaceful and calm despite the chaotic events he faced each day. Unbothered by the demanding world around him, or perhaps simply just too exhausted to care.

He found himself reaching out with his carefully groomed hand to brush away a lock of hair that had fallen into the sleeping elf's face, tucking it behind a pointed ear. His fingertips lingered on the feel of soft skin across the slender shell of Lavellan’s ear, admiring the texture and the softness of the hair behind it.  Lavellan didn’t protest the touch, relaxed as ever as he slept. Feeling bold, Dorian ran his fingertips down the curve of the elf's jawline, possibly jealous of the smooth texture of skin that Lavellan did not need to put any effort into maintaining.

It was a dangerous temptation to dip his thumb to lightly caress a soft lower lip, smiling as he did so. It was as warm against him it had been earlier when the elf had kissed his finger. As his thumb ghosted so gently across the pink flesh Lavellan parted his mouth with just the smallest of noises, causing Dorian to snatch his hand away, hovering it a few inches above the elf’s face as he waited to see if he'd been caught.

Unbidden, thoughts of _what_ _could have been_ floated through Dorian’s mind. He could have crawled on top of the dozing elf and kissed him as he awoke, explored that soft mouth that was still parted temptingly. Lavellan would wrap arms sleepily around him, welcome his advances and tease Dorian’s mouth with his own, absolute temptation until Dorian would wake him enough to relocate somewhere more private for whatever primal activities they could manage in their exhausted state.

Or maybe, maybe they would simply sleep curled against each other, a tangle of warm limbs and smooth skin. They’d have time for that, in no rush because once morning came they could spend it lazily exploring each other’s bodies with renewed vigor.

Dorian caught himself before falling too deeply into that fantasy. He really _was_ exhausted to entertain such thoughts. The fascination of a lonely body giving into a weak mind. So long in the south, too concerned with a dagger in the back to risk finding anything more than a quick fuck in a shadowed corner. Even those were hard to come by, very few brave enough to approach dazzling tevinter mage that had embedded himself in the Inquisitor’s inner circle. Prospective dalliances were far too willing to believe the rumors that anyone who bedded a ‘vint would end up a blood sacrifice.

Not surprising that his mind would fixate on the elf who spent so much time next to him. The elf who was incredibly easy on the eyes, talented and charming, intelligent with a delightfully wicked streak that could keep Dorian amused for a lifetime. The elf who Dorian had watched with growing interest, thinking of how he could seduce and entice him when the time was right. He hadn’t thought much about what could happen after, but some little part of him could only dare to wonder if Lavellan might have been interested in more than sex.

Dorian let out a bitter chuckle at the thought, while letting his fingertips touch the tip of Lavellan’s nose simply to watch it scrunch as the elf protested the tickling. A missed opportunity there, nothing more. Lavellan might have been what Dorian wanted, but Dorian was as far as one could get from what Lavellan was after. When the elf had contemplated potential bed partners Dorian hadn’t even been considered. The prideful arrogance he surrounded himself with stung at that, it was best to let everyone think that was the only reason Dorian was sore.

Sighing he picked up his book once again, deciding now was as good of time as any to dig into spirit healing, not much good for anything else the way his thoughts kept going. As he read he found his hand dipping to the head in his lap, petting Lavellan’s hair much like one would a cat before finally digging his fingers through it enough to scratch lightly at the elf’s scalp. If the contented sigh was anything to go by, the way Lavellan arched his neck to press his head further into Dorian’s hand, his idle efforts were at least appreciated.

Hours passed and Dorian’s notes were beginning to stack up next to him, though his scrawl was beginning to grow less and less legible as he found himself yawning more than usual, nodding off on multiple occasions. Lavellan had long since ruined Dorian’s trousers with a patch of drool from where he’d snuggled into his makeshift pillow, sleeping soundly. It was almost a shame to move him, but if Dorian was to get any sleep himself they’d have to relocate.

Putting the book to the side, Dorian stretched with hands high above his head, feeling his back pop in several places and groaning in the agonizing bliss it brought his sore back.

“You know, neither of you are much good to anyone if you die from exhaustion.”

“Fasta vass!” Dorian shouted as he practically jumped out of his skin. Lavellan groaned as he was very nearly dislodged from the lap he was laying across, Dorian’s hands falling to soothe him even as glared at the qunari who was casually leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. He looked downright smug in his amusement at surprising the ‘vint. “How does a brute like you sneak around so quietly?”

‘Ben-Hassrath’ was the obvious answer, obvious enough that Iron Bull didn’t bother saying it. Instead he unfolded muscled arms and walked into the room, eyeing the elf laying across Dorian’s lap. “Last night when I checked in, you were both still standing, at least. This? I’m calling it, time for bed. Both of you.”

Dorian glared, however when he opened his mouth to protest a yawn broke out instead, wide enough his jaw clicked. “You...may have a point. Should I wake him?”

Iron Bull grunted out a no before squatting in front of Dorian, the metal of his boot grinding against the stone as he reached for his elf. His expression was soft as he carefully pulled Lavellan from Dorian’s lap, when the elf fussed and began to wake Iron Bull simply smoothed a large hand over his forehead. “S’alright big guy, I got ya.” He said as he settled the elf against his chest.

To Dorian’s surprise as Iron Bull straightened and stood Lavellan settled right down against the scarred grey skin of Bull’s chest. When the qunari touched the side of his face with one hand the elf nuzzled into it almost immediately, seeking more contact.

Lavellan hadn’t shied away from Dorian’s touch, but he actively craved Iron Bull’s even when asleep. Dorian gave a resigned sigh as he stood up, though it was very easy to mask the sound with a groan as his body protested straightening out.

“Get some sleep, Sparkler. You’ve earned your rest.” Dorian grunted his agreement though he was distracted when he noticed Lavellan’s eyes open for a moment, a thin slit of green as the elf made a soft sound.

Cradled so easily against Bull’s chest with his legs hooked over the qunari’s arm bridal style, he stretched in a content sort of fashion. “Bull?” He mumbled, voice so soaked in sleep it was a wonder he was even awake.

“Yeah, I’m here Boss. I’m taking you to bed.” Iron Bull said easily. Lavellan squirmed long enough to get a hand up and grab one of Iron Bull’s horns, briefly tugging the man’s head down to press a kiss against Bull’s jawline.

The qunari let him, grinning as Lavellan’s grip immediately slackened and the elf sagged back into his arms almost as quickly as he’d awakened, back to sleep before Iron Bull could even take a proper kiss. His expression remained soft as he took a step back towards the door, glancing up at Dorian before he turned.

He stopped when he did, seeing something on Dorian’s face that encouraged wariness. The easy display of affection, the way Iron Bull smiled softly when exposed to his sleepy elf, the way Lavellan curled into him and sought out something as silly as a kiss. It struck a nerve, finally drawing Dorian out of the steadfast silence he usually faced the subject with.

“What do you _do_ , exactly?” He asked, his voice a little sharper than he intended it.

Not that it seemed to have any ill effect on the qunari who gave an easy shrug despite the burden in his arms. “Well, I’m a mercenary by trade.” He said, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world.

Dorian groaned. “With _him_.”

Iron Bull regarded him with some interest, head tilted slightly to the side before he finally raised his good eyebrow in a questioning way. “You ‘vints _do_ know what sex is, right?”

“Kaffas! Yes, I know what sex is!” Dorian snapped, exhaustion leaving his edges frayed and exposed instead of the gilded charm he usually chose. “That’s obviously not what I’m asking! Sex doesn’t… Whatever you’ve done, you’ve _changed_ him. How did you…” Iron Bull was being completely unhelpful, staring blankly as Dorian struggled with words, waiting for him to finish his question. Left feeling awkward and embarrassed, unwilling to dig his hole any deeper, Dorian abruptly stopped. “You know what? Nevermind. I need sleep.”

He turned to pick up his notes when Iron Bull finally spoke up. “He’s better.”

“I didn’t say he wasn’t.” Dorian said, turning back to the Iron Bull and shaking his head. “Everyone who knows him can see that he’s better. He’s confident, happy in his own skin. He doesn’t apologize or flinch, doesn’t let people walk all over him. But I think that no matter what Mother Giselle says, it has nothing to do with him finding the love of the Maker. I think it’s something more scandalous than she’s willing to comprehend that’s changed him.”

Iron Bull grinned, the pull of his lips downright devilish as he looked at the elf sleeping peacefully in his arms, a predator eyeing it’s prey and basking in the delight that he’d captured it. It turned to a smirk as he looked back up at Dorian, rolling a big shoulder again and taking a step back, as if to leave. “Well, you seem to have it figured out.”

“I don’t! I don’t understand!” Dorian cut off, not letting the subject die and Iron Bull to leave. He very nearly ran a frustrated hand through his hair, though years of trained vanity prevented it so he rubbed his temple instead. “ _Sex_ doesn’t do that. It just doesn’t work that way for people like…”

 _Us._ The word was left unsaid as the mage abruptly cut himself off, his exhaustion tinged features pulling into a scowl that left him looking run down and...defeated. It didn’t surprise the Iron Bull at all that Dorian would see Lavellan as a kindred spirit, despite their outwardly glaring differences they were remarkably alike. They often dealt with things the same way, a stubborn defiance powering a drive to excel. Hiding hurts behind expert masks, presenting a strong front to withstand any storm while the man within was shaken to the core by what they saw.

The silence that hung between them was pregnant with an edge of vulnerability. Probably sleep deprivation that was causing Dorian to drop his guard and look at the two of them with something longing and desperate in his eyes. It went far beyond the simple attraction to a friend, the distrustful way he so certainly _didn’t_ envy Iron Bull. It was the look of a man who had been denied something his entire life, told it was impossible to acquire so many times that he’d simply stopped trying. A man who had wallowed in decadent despair and cast aside every opportunity to better himself because he’d been so sure there was _no other way._

Now he was faced with the proof that there was, standing before him in the form of a sleepy elf and the massive qunari that woke up at ungodly hours of the night to care for him. _If I had been a better man, could I have had this too?_ A gaping hole in the ‘vints armor, such a window into a beautiful creature that left Iron Bull itching to say so many things. Just a few well placed words and he could crack the man open like an egg. However there was no purpose in hurting Dorian further and it was not Iron Bull’s place to try and help. Another time he might have rolled Dorian into bed, _showed_ him how he helped. The Inquisitorial bundle in his arms complicated matters greatly.

So he left it alone. Pretended he didn’t notice, gave Dorian the option to pretend like it had never happened.

“We’re not in Tevinter. Maybe things just work differently in the South.” He said instead, his tone easy and light, though Dorian still flinched like he’d been rebuked.  

“Perhaps.” Dorian said tightly, crossing his arms over his chest in a decidedly defensive pose.

Iron Bull didn’t want to stand and watch as the mage struggled to find his composure, to close up and hide behind his pretty walls again. So instead he shrugged and nodded a horn towards the snoring elf who was beginning to drool slightly against his chest. “I’m going to get Drooly here to bed. You need to sleep too, you look like shit.” He said with a bit of a grin, the friendly barb softened a little more than usual by the soft tone of his voice.

As expected Dorian snorted, his stance transforming entirely, the vulnerability gone because he knew how to deal with teasing and ribbing from friends. “Sleep deprived as I am, I still look years better than you.” He sniffed haughtily.

Iron Bull smiled a knowing smile, letting Dorian think he’d come out of that round on top as he left the room to take Lavellan to bed.

\---

The next two days were spent preparing their notes and making a coherent plan of what they would do with the samples when they arrived. The entire lifespan of each sample was planned in excruciating detail and their room was arranged to accommodate this. Once everything was in order the two mages both sat back to admire their handiwork before agreeing to spend the rest of the day celebrating with a bottle of wine, some chess and very little other activity.

Dorian was patient when their game was repeatedly interrupted by messengers requesting Lavellan review and sign their reports. When one bottle of wine ran out, Lavellan had another brought up. When sitting in front of the open window wasn’t providing enough sunlight, the two of them decided to reconvene outside, moving their chess board down into the courtyard.

Dorian refused to sprawl in the grass as Lavellan wished so the two of them set up their board across the top wall of the main courtyard. The chargers were off with Iron Bull repairing holes in roofs and walls throughout Skyhold, leaving the sparring ring filled with Inquisition soldiers, a flurry of activity as others milled about the tavern roaring stories and cheers of their latest survived mission for the Inquisition. Some of the more veteran agents were out enjoying the sun as well, milling together on the ramparts or out in the sun, enjoying the time they had before duty called them out once again.

It was such a cheery mixture, all sorts of people and backgrounds merged together under a common banner, _his_ banner, and Lavellan couldn’t help but be smiling as he watched his fortress bustle with activity. Of course, his happy distraction was costing him dearly in focus -- Dorian would be impossible to work with for the next few days as he won his third game with a satisfied clap of hands.

“Is that _all_ your coin? If you need to nip down to the Inquisition’s vault to scrounge some more, I certainly wouldn’t object to waiting.”

“Convincing me to bet on these games was a very sinister ploy, Master Pavus. I worry your true colors are showing.”

“Oh? How do you know I was not intending benevolence? One would expect the Inquisitor to be better at chess. Great leaders are, I’m told.”

Lavellan scrunched up his nose. “The only person I’ve beaten was Cullen and that’s only because he _let_ me win.” Lavellan chuckled at the memory. “The rules seem simple enough, but there is a great deal of complexity that is still far beyond me.”

“I suppose that’s right, you just started playing recently, hm? What games do you Dalish play then, when you want to test your wits against each other?”

Lavellan thought about it for a few moments before he smiled. “There were a few in my clan who had decks of cards, they played every game you could imagine. My Keeper favoured a game involving chips, but I’m not entirely sure what it was called. Lots of betting on dice as well, not coin of course. Usually things like favors or trinkets. Among the youth it wasn’t uncommon to bet kisses or _other_ things.”

“Quite often practiced among Tevinter youth, as well. Who knew our people would have something in common.” Dorian was grinning at him as he began to set the pieces back up for a new game. “Though I can’t help but gather that you weren’t involved in many of these games.”

“I…” Lavellan trailed off for a moment, frowning at the thought. Nights around the fire while everyone celebrated a hunt, games and dancing and drinking. In the middle of it would be the First of his clan, dancing with everyone who asked, accepting every challenge to a game. He was always the center of such things, such a social man. Then his eyes would settle on Lavellan, he’d offer a pleasant smile and motion for him to come, patting the log next to him to invite Lavellan to sit at his side.

Lavellan would turn away with a frown, deciding to trade a patrol for night watch instead. It had been a form of rebellion, cutting himself off from the Clan had been his way of lashing out, some small thing he could control. He understood now it had hurt no one but himself.

“I wasn’t much for games, too busy with a nose in my books, or exploring ruins we sometimes found in the forest.” Dorian offered him a soft smile, if he caught on to anything different he didn’t pry. Pretty masks could only be kept in tact if others did not poke at them, Dorian could respect that.

“Well then, you can bet another bottle of wine and we will keep playing until you’ve won a match, or we’ve drained your cellar!”

Lavellan couldn’t help but grin, deciding it was an entirely terrible idea but far too amused by it to refuse. Their new game was going well in Lavellan’s favour for a change, until the sound of horns and Skyhold’s massive gates being opened caught his attention. The elf tilted his head back to watch the gates, a plain and sturdy covered wagon pulled through by a couple of large black horses. It wasn’t until he saw the pure white pelt of a halla, and most importantly it’s rider, that Lavellan stood up abruptly, drawing Dorian’s attention.

“Is it our samples from Wycome?” Dorian asked, casually looking over the edge of the wall. When he looked at Lavellan he realized something was very wrong as the elf gnawed at his lip, looking like he was ready to run away. “What’s wrong?”

Lavellan finally pointed at the elf as she dismounted the halla she was riding, greeted by one of Josephine’s messengers. “That’s my Keeper.” He said, giving Dorian a strained look.

“Oh. Guess she came to get a response to her letters in person?” Dorian narrowed his eyes to peer at her a little closer in the sunlight. While her face was painted with the vallaslin that marked her as dalish, her clothing was a strange hybrid of the two. The Keeper of a clan that had become as embroiled in human politics as Lavellan himself. “I’ll go be a distraction while you escape out the back?”

Lavellan laughed, a strained panicky little noise that didn’t have much humor at all. As tempting as the offer was he nodded towards the stairs instead, eternally grateful that Dorian joined him on the way down, their chessboard forgotten where it lay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may or may not have Lavellan convincing his Keeper that Dorian is his boyfriend, in the future. It may or may not go spectacularly wrong.
> 
> I of course live for feedback, so if you have any please comment I'd love to hear your input! :D


	2. Hair Brained Schemes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Dorian thought it was an awful plan. His body language, his expression, everything screamed that he couldn’t be less impressed with the idea, all before he even spoke. “That’s a horrible plan and you should feel terrible for thinking it’ll work. If the Iron Bull finds out he’ll separate my head from my shoulders.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Horray I finished another chapter! It only took...lets not think about how long it took! Horray!
> 
> If this chapter seems ...shorter than my usual offerings, it's because the finished chapter is literally twice this size. I've decided to split it into two, this being the first half. The other half should follow soon, it just has to go through some more editing and rewrites before it's good to go. (As good as it's getting? I'm terrible at editing so this will have to do!) 
> 
> This chapter ends up being mostly setup, which will be followed up on in the next chapter. This was _supposed_ to be filthy kinky threesome action, however it's turned into a slow burn that will torture me until I finally finish it.

The Keeper of clan Lavellan was a formidable looking woman despite her small stature. Her auburn hair was carefully braided into a elegant high bun, her shoulders back and head held high as she spoke to the Inquisition agent tending to her caravan. A human soldier stood behind her wearing Wycome's colors, paying rapt attention to the conversation being held.

Lavellan schooled his expression into smooth calm, the same mask he wore when meeting any dignitary. He waited for an agreement to be reached with Josephine's messenger before he approached.

"Da'len." She said in a soft breath as she reached out to him as he approached, allowing her to wrap him in her arms. She was slightly taller than him, her supple leather armor warm against his cheek, smelling of halla and forest and fresh spring air. "Oh Da'len.” She smiled against his forehead. "You are a balm for weary eyes. I've missed you so."

She was slow about releasing him and Lavellan found himself blushing as she squeezed him tight. She had always been kind and warm, but it had been far too long since another of his kind had dared to touch him. "I did not expect you, you accompanied the samples?"

She laughed and released him, taking a step back and smiling at him sadly. "You’re not happy to see me."

"No! Forgive me, I did not mean to be rude Keeper. You are most welcome here, I am pleased you are safe and would have sent soldiers to accompany you had I known you were coming. I merely was surprised to have more than vials of blood this time."

Keeper Istimaethoriel was a shrewd woman and fully aware that Lavellan's relief and concern for her safety was in no way proof he was happy to see her. She was well versed in dealing with elf before her, however, so she did not push at him any further. "You said in your letters you needed the aid of a spirit healer, I am here to offer my services and my knowledge of the disease. We've brought samples but also one of the ill, to give easier access. They wish to help, they have offered to test any treatments we can come up with."

Lavellan noticed a strained expression on the face of the guard standing behind her. Both he and his Keeper excelled at leaving out information, it seemed. Narrowing his eyes at the man he tilted his head in inquiry. “You’re unhappy with this arrangement, soldier?”

“No!” Both he and the Keeper exclaimed at the same time, the elven woman taking a step back automatically to draw nearer to the man. Lavellan didn’t need the barely audible scoff from Dorian to catch on quickly. “It’s my daughter.” The man explained. “She wants to help."

"This is Isaac Frost, captain of the guard in Wycome. He has helped me and our clan since your Nightingale first smuggled us into the city." The man saluted as Lavellan’s Keeper spoke.

“It's a pleasure to meet you. Your daughter is in sure hands and we will do our best to bring her good health again.” Dorian spoke up, standing at Lavellan’s side with a polite bow. Lavellan was well aware of the way his Keeper’s eye’s widened as she took in the man. _Tevinter_ , would be the first thing to cross her mind. _He’s gorgeous_ , would be the next. Dorian had that effect on people. Especially the way he held himself, proud as a peacock at Lavellan’s side.

“Keeper, allow me to introduce Dorian of House Pavus, formerly of Minrathous.” Lavellan offered a quick look out the corner of his eye to Dorian, who returned it with an approving nod. “He has been helping me with the research. Without him we would be no closer to finding a cure.”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance.” His Keeper said with a smile. Though she was wary she made no comment on Dorian’s homeland. “I am Keeper Istimaethoriel of Clan Lavellan.” The ease in which she said her name apparently did not make it any simpler to repeat, the elven woman catching her chuckle with her hand, turning it into a polite cough. “You can call me Thoriel. It seems to be easiest.”

“Isty-May not as popular in Wycome, then?” Lavellan asked with a bit of a grin, the first bit of informal camaraderie he had displayed towards his Keeper.

“My little Wildfire, lets not spread around my less respectable nicknames, lest I return the favour? What was it they shortened _your_ name to?”

Lavellan coughed, turning slightly red as he quickly clapped his hands together. “Good point, let’s get to work, shall we?” Dorian barked out a laugh, his amusement matched only by his curiosity. As Thoriel lead them around the back of the covered wagon Dorian nudged Lavellan lightly.

“So what _is_ this nickname of yours?”

“I’ll take it to my grave, you nosy ‘vint.”

Dorian’s snickering was thankfully under control when they began to discuss how to best transport their new patient. Once a couple of Josephine’s assistants joined them they managed to quickly relocate the young girl into the infirmary where she would be quarantined until they had put the proper protections in place.

“It occurs to me that if you are the Captain of the Guard, that leaves Wycome a little short staffed does it not?” Dorian asked politely as they finished directing the goods and samples to be delivered to their research room.

“One of the clan’s hunters, Itari, has been handling things quite well. He’s--”

“Itari? What?” Lavellan interrupted, blinking back his shock. The Keeper paused what she was doing to look at him over her shoulder. “Itari working with humans? He was the first to want to put an arrow through any shem who stumbled too close to our camp.”

“He’s changed a lot.” Thoriel said with a soft smile, “We all have. You should visit some time, just to see how well our clan is integrating into Wycome.”

“So few of the nobility are left after all that happened, most of them went mad from the poisoning or died in the fighting. The average citizen remembers only that it was the elves that fought at their sides, exposed the corruption of the Venatori and purged the city of red lyrium. With Clan Lavellan being the source of the Herald of Andraste, you can imagine the respect in which your people are treated within the city.” The soldier sounded honored, his part just a small piece of the change but still a point of pride.

“If only it existed outside Wycome’s borders.” Lavellan said with a sigh, handing Dorian a crate of vials before picking one up himself.

“Skyhold and Wycome are a good start.” Dorian chided, “It’s more than we had before the sky exploded.”

“He’s right, you know. I’d never dreamed of our clan being welcome in a human city. I would have sent you out to spy on humans sooner, had I known you would have started something like this.”

Lavellan shook his head, leading them through a side entrance into the fortress. It was a faster way to their research area, but more importantly it was away from the eyes of most of Skyhold. Keeping her arrival a secret would be a challenge, but he would find a way. “I promise it had nothing to do with my spying ability.”

“Really, you spying on humans? How did that ever seem like a good idea? You don’t exactly blend in.”

"He was the most capable of defending himself if some shem decided to try anything." Thoriel said cheerfully. "Plus his common was excellent."

"Thanks. Good to know I was chosen for my ability to communicate with people before killing them." Lavellan groaned dryly. "Your faith in me is touching."

"Don't worry, Da'len. I always had the utmost faith in you."

His Keeper’s words seemed sincere, but that did not stop Dorian from snorting in a very undignified bout of amusement. Lavellan snorted. “Well that makes one of us, apparently.”

Their conversation was cut off when they arrived, Dorian opening the door to their room and leading everyone in. Lavellan handed off his crate to one of Josephine’s messengers that was helping move their goods before slipping away with a brief apology.

He reached the top of the stairs and turned towards the great hall when he ran into Josephine, the young Ambassador no doubt summoned to greet their very important guest. “Josephine, perfect.” Lavellan sighed, running a hand nervously through his hair, pushing the long dark strands away from his face. “I need to talk to you.”

“About your Keeper, yes? Did you wish to have a feast in her honor? Are there any arrangements I can make to welcome her --”

“No, no. Please no, Josephine.” Lavellan interrupted quickly. “You can’t let anyone know that she’s here. She’s only going to be here until we find a cure, then she’s on her way back home. No one else can know.”

“Inquisitor, surely that is very uncharitable towards your clan’s leader.”

“Oh, by all means, make her at home. Have the room next to our’s prepared. Both Dorian and I will care for her needs personally. But no one else can know she’s here. Not even my inner circle.” He narrowed his eyes as he considered that. “ _Especially_ not my inner circle.”

“Perhaps just the Iron Bull then? He would treat her with utmost respect, I’m sure.”

“No. If especially not my inner circle, then _definitely_ especially not the Iron Bull. Above all he cannot find out. Just...tell everyone that the dalish sent a spirit healer to aid us, that they delivered some samples and we are unable to leave them for risk of them deteriorating too fast. Add in that they’re highly infectious and the process to make one’s self immune involves tricky Tevinter blood rituals and that should keep anyone from disturbing us.”

“I feel the need to point out, Inquisitor, that keeping secrets in Skyhold is a _terrible_ idea.”

"Don't make a big deal about it, Josephine. She will only be with us for a few days and then it will be like she was never here."

"Don't make a big deal about it, he says." Josephine said with an exasperated sigh, raising a delicate hands to her forehead. "While asking me to keep secrets from those who are intimately interested in your goings on, not limited to a nosy dwarf with an inability to keep his mouth shut, a spirit child who can read minds and most importantly, a trained spy who makes it his business to know every goings on related to you. Who will be immediately suspicious the moment I open my mouth to explain why--"

"Just don't tell him it's my Keeper. Leave her out of it. That's all I'm asking, Josephine. Please."

"Maker, how do I resist when you give me puppy eyes like that? I'll do my best, Inquisitor. But I expect you to give me first pick at any treats you receive for the next month."

"Thank you, Josephine." Lavellan said with a warm smile, relief clearly palpable. "I promise to deal with this later, when..." He motioned his arms in a frantic wave, "When I don't have to fight with everything else as well."

"Understood. Please take care of yourself and your guest."

Lavellan trusted Josephine to deal with the terrible burden of keeping things on the hush, which allowed him to focus instead on the biggest task at hand. Finding the solution to the sickness spreading throughout Wycome as quick as possible was best for everyone involved. Despite his concerns Lavellan knew well that the most important reason for haste was to help the young girl that obviously meant so much to his Keeper that she would be brought in person.

Her quarantined room smelled of harsh soaps with no one allowed in without proper protective equipment, masks filled with dispelling salts that would kill any sickness alongside thick gloves and clothing that were removed as soon as one was done to be disposed of. Thankfully his Keeper had followed these guidelines in bringing her here, so the young thing did not seem overly stressed by the goings on around her as blood samples were carefully taken.

Good food and reading material were provided, everyone hoping that she would be cured before she became too bored staring at the sterilized, whitewashed walls of the room.

The samples were carried to their research room where they were contained and handled with the same type of tools dwarves used with lyrium. It was surreal, watching the small containers of blood locked away under the sealed glass of Dagna’s apparatus as their planned testing began.

While Lavellan oversaw the careful proceedings, Dorian explained their theories to Istimaethoriel.

“This is incredible.” She breathed with awe in her voice. “Wycome’s facilities were already so much better than what we had in the Clan. But this...this is…”

“Barely a step up from the elementary rooms of Tevinter’s meagerest schools, but it will have to do.” Dorian said with a sniff, using a flourishing hand gesture to draw her attention to the main table filled to the brim with notes, charts and strategies. “Still, far better than the War Room your ‘Wildfire’ spends most of his time in. We will accomplish great things here.”

“Of that I have no doubt.” When she turned to examine the notes regarding spirit healing she smiled after several minutes of reading. “You have a very in depth understanding of Spirits and their effects on healing spells.”

“It’s something the Chantry regards with no small amount of wariness, but Tevinter does not share those stigmas, as one might imagine. It’s taught thoroughly in classes, and while mages who choose to pursue it are oft committing social suicide, no one can question that they provide an important service.”

“When I was just a girl, a first under my Keeper, he almost cast me out when I began to speak of spirits and the type of magic they could share. Among the Dalish we try very hard to avoid magic involving spirits or the fade, so often it ends in bloodshed.”

“Probably wise, yes? Though exceptions can always be useful. Tell me, did Lavellan share your interest in spirits?”

“Surely you’ve seen him fight. Unless he has changed greatly since I last saw him, he is more apt to turn the gentle magic of spirit traces into fire. Hence his nickname.”

“I can hear you, you know.” Lavellan said crossly from where he was standing, narrowing his eyes at the two of them. “Wouldn’t you rather talk about how Dorian uses bits of spirit energy to reanimate the dead and leave my innocent fire out of it?”

“Oh! You’re a Mortalitassi? I’ve read about the great Necropolis in Nevarra. It’s so fascinating!”

When Dorian grinned from ear to ear and began to talk excitedly with her, Lavellan groaned and slapped a palm to his forehead.

“You should see some of the old tomes we have here within Skyhold. You must let me take you to the library, the writings from Nevarra regarding--”

“Creators, please try and focus! There will be no field trips until the task at hand is complete!” Lavellan threw his hands up into the air.

“Now dear Inquisitor, don’t be so rude. It is our duty to demonstrate the Majesty of the Inquisition to our most esteemed guest.” Dorian said fondly with a short little bow that just _screamed_ sarcasm.

“We will of course complete our work with utmost focus.” His Keeper agreed quickly with a small smile pulling at the corners of her lips. “However when we’re done, you _must_ tell me more of this library. Does it have a full copy of _Beyond the Veil_? I could only get my hands on a few pages of it and they were terribly worn.”

“Oh, we have so much more. If you are interested in the Mortalitasi, we have the entire work _Our Honored Dead,_ by Prelate Davidus. Spirits of the Spire, The Shape of the Fade --”

“Oh! Is there any chance you have copy of that book about Veilfire written in the Imperium?”

“Oh! Magister Pendictus’ works? Yes, I managed to get it brought in special, along with Lord Cerastes’ studies on Alchemy.”

“I _heard_ about those, but never could trade for them. All the Shems I traded with gave me a look like I’d asked for their firstborn.”

“The Chantry has explicitly banned many works from Tevinter, not that it’s very surprising. I’ll pick out a selection from my personal collection for you to read.”

Lavellan rubbed his temples with slender hands as he carefully examined the samples for new findings, regretting a lot of things. He’d foolishly assumed his Keeper would be so focused on the fact Dorian was from Tevinter that she would somehow miss that he was as equally enthralled with study and discovery as she was.

He decided to be glad that the two of them could bond and hopefully Dorian alone would be able to keep her from wishing to explore more of Skyhold. There was some warmth in his chest as he watched them banter back and forth while reviewing their plans.

Perhaps her visit wouldn’t be so terrible after all.

***

“To the void with this blighted thing!” Lavellan growled while he shook the fountain pen he was using to write. For what felt like the hundredth time that day it had suddenly dried up, refusing to part with any of the ample supply of ink Lavellan knew it was holding. When shaking it the first time failed to yield any results he flicked it sharply with his fingertip, glaring at it as he looked for some sign of damage.

Both Dorian and his Keeper turned to see what was wrong just as his temper produced results. Of course the pen was closest to his face when the tip flew off, spewing ink in it’s wake that splattered across Lavellan’s hands, his clothes and his face, the latter flushed red in a potent mixture of rage and embarrassment.

Everyone was silent for a few long moments, as if expecting Lavellan to suddenly burst into flame and tear down the walls in a rage. Instead the elf heaved out a sigh and tossed the broken pen towards the rubbish bin before he attempted to wipe his face across his sleeve. Unfortunately it was equally soaked in ink, which only smeared everything more.

Dorian must have taken pity on him then, the ‘vint rushing forward to pull out a handkerchief and dab at the ink on the Inquisitor’s cheeks with it. “Here, don’t touch it you’ll just make it worse, your hands are absolutely _covered._ I told you to throw that pen away.”

“It still worked, sometimes. It was a waste.” Lavellan protested while Dorian stood closer to him to better see the damage. There was a messy splatter across Lavellan’s mouth and cheekbone, before it suddenly veered upwards to smear across his eye and into his hairline. Dorian’s efforts were removing the bulk of it before it had time to really soak in and stain Lavellan’s pale skin too deeply.

“Yes, I see your point. It certainly serves the unforeseen use of war paint rather well.”

Lavellan grumbled something under his breath, though he was silenced when Dorian suddenly tilted his head back, leaning so _very_ into Lavellan’s personal space in order to carefully wipe ink out from under Lavellan’s eye. The elf did his best to focus on anything but the warmth of the other man’s breath across his cheek, Dorian far too intent on getting ink away from Lavellan’s eye socket to notice Lavellan’s blush under all the ink.

“You know, a little more and you would have gotten an eye full and been half blind.”

“You’ll just seem twice as attractive, then.” Lavellan growled. Dorian grinned down at him fiercely, clearly accepting the challenge that the quip provided as he paused to find a part of the handkerchief that wasn’t already thoroughly covered in Ink.

“At least I know how to work a pen without getting a face full.” Dorian snarked as he wiped away ink from the top of the Inquisitor’s brow with a steady hand, still standing close with his other hand on the top of Lavellan’s head to angle it better so he could see. Lavellan stayed pliant and resisted the urge to fiddle with the shiny buckles of Dorian’s robes in front of him, knowing how covered in ink his hands were.

“Oh? Swallowing the only way you do it then?”

Dorian choked on whatever quip he was preparing, strangling it into a laugh as he looked down at the elf in his grip with a surprised sort of grin spreading across his face. His dark skin hid the flush that hit his face well, but this close Lavellan couldn’t help but notice the increase in heat coming off of Dorian’s body all of a sudden, the shift in stance as he leaned just a tiny bit closer, turning on the sensual flirtiness that he was so damn good at.

“The things that come out of your mouth.” Dorian said with an amused hum, as if chastising Lavellan despite the fact his eyes were gleaming with mischief as he dragged the handkerchief down the side of Lavellan’s jaw. He so very purposefully avoided the urge to drag it across Lavellan’s lower lip despite his outwardly flirty demeanor, always careful to toe the line though they both felt the intent.

Lavellan could play that game. They had before on the rare occasion, usually when a little too much wine was involved, testing how far they could tease each other before playful flirting started feeling far too serious and one of them backed down.

“Here I thought you’d be more interested in the things that go _into_ it.” Lavellan’s grin was downright wicked and Dorian groaned at the innuendo, clearly having not intended to leave himself open to that one.

Before the other mage could respond in kind there was a happy sigh to their right, both of them tilting their heads to glance at Istimaethoriel who was watching them with her hands clasped in front of her and a silly smile on her face. “Creator’s, you two make such a gorgeous couple.” She practically cooed. “You should gift paintings of yourselves to guests at your hand-fastening.”

The teasing way she addressed them almost distracted the two mages enough that the assumption that they were a couple took a moment to sink in. Dorian abruptly straightened up, pulled his hand away from the side of Lavellan’s face and made a move to step backwards. “Oh no, we’re not --”

Before he could finish his refusal, Lavellan’s body kicked in even as his brain was still catching up. “Planning a hand-fastening, at least not yet.” He cut in, taking a step forward to close all space between their bodies as he reached out to put a relaxed hand on Dorian’s chest. Well, as relaxed as he could make it look. He was practically shaking as his mind whirled.

It was going to come up sooner or later. His Keeper would insist on meeting his lover. His very specifically not elven lover. If she met the Iron Bull, Lavellan was positive that it would not end in any way that would benefit him. He could hope all he wanted that she would decide to exile him after all, leave and never contact him again -- but the opposite was much more likely.

If she mentioned to Iron Bull that she wanted his help in changing the way their clan interacted with humans, he had no doubt that Iron Bull would be on board. The man had no real care for the Dalish culture beyond what he had been taught by Lavellan, but he was a _people_ oriented person. Once he found out how much of an impact they could have on dalish lives, perhaps for the better, there would be a great deal of interest that his Keeper could work with.

He wanted to leave his old life behind, wanted to find closure and move on.

If she thought Dorian was his lover, she would never have to meet the Iron Bull. Dorian was already tangled up in keeping the secret that she was even here, a little more deceit couldn’t hurt.

Well, it could, judging by the alarmed look the man was giving him at the moment, something mixed between shock and terror.Lavellan gave him his brightest smile, trying to reassure the man, trying to get him to relax just a bit so he’d stop looking like he was going to bolt out of the room. Instead he grabbed Lavellan’s wrist where it rested on his chest, neither pulling it away nor allowing it the ability to move. Lavellan leaned up, gently touching his lips to Dorian’s jaw in what could be construed as a gentle display of affection, though it allowed him to whisper an ‘ _I’ll explain later’_ that only Dorian could hear.

Instead of allowing Dorian to speak, Lavellan continued with a calm, relaxed voice. “Tevinter customs are a lot... _different_ than it is for us. I’m afraid announcing any kind of formal ceremony might give Magister Pavus, Dorian’s father, a heart attack.”

"Not the kind to think highly of an elf? Even one as politically connected as you?"

"Honestly I'm not sure if he'd even get to the part where I'm an elf, he'd be rather hung up on the fact I'm a man."

His Keeper looked confused as she digested that information and Lavellan relaxed considerably now that he was sure that she was not going to start doubting the validity of their ‘relationship’. Dorian, for his part, seemed to have broke out of his shock enough to relax his posture as well, now regarding Lavellan with a speculative look as the elf remained pressed against him.

Not that his expression didn’t still give Lavellan the distinct message that the ‘vint thought he was out of his mind.

“So that’s a big deal for humans then?”

Lavellan grinned, because he remembered asking the same question of Dorian when the other mage had attempted to explain why his preferences caused a problem. “More of a big deal for Tevinter nobility, specifically.”

“So, the Dalish really don’t mind? It’s not just you?” Dorian asked thoughtfully, his curiosity winning out over his disbelief of the direction the conversation had suddenly turned. Ink still smeared upon Lavellan's face was totally forgotten, no doubt going to stain for some time.

"Children are precious within the clan, we want as many who are able to have them. But mages..." Lavellan gave a grim nod before continuing where his Keeper left off.

“Magic runs strong in my blood. Were I to sire a child, he’d likely be a mage as well. The clans we are in contact with already have their mages…” He trailed off a moment, before shrugging. “No one wants to abandon a child.” Dorian winced, which made Lavellan pat his arm in a comforting way. Surely the man bred by Tevinter’s desire to produce as many powerful mages as possible wouldn’t understand the desire to avoid reproduction. “No one will frown on me failing to continue my bloodline.”

When Dorian seemed a loss for words Lavellan’s Keeper assumed it was due to his opinion on their customs, instead of disbelief of Lavellan’s sanity. “There’s been surrogate mothers used for sterile couples before, if children are something you wish for it could always happen.” Dorian blinked dumbly, perhaps the fact that not only was he suddenly in a romantic relationship with Lavellan, he was now getting advice on how to produce a heir with him.

“This is all a bit fast.” Dorian said instead, managing to make it sound charming while he took a step back and shot Lavellan a wild _What in the void are you doing?_ look when his Keeper wasn’t looking.

“He’s right. Planning into the future like that is foolish until Corypheus is dead.” Lavellan said easily, picking at his sleeve and then noticing he was smearing the still drying ink all the more so as he did. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” When his Keeper seemed satisfied with that, he offered her a soft smile before spreading out his hands, displaying the dark ink that was smeared everywhere. “I’m going to go change and try to clean this off, I’ll absolutely _ruin_ any of our notes if I touch them like this.”

He took a step back to head out the door, deciding that he could use the alone time to come up with a plan, figure out exactly what he was doing before he lied himself into a corner he couldn’t get out of. As he reached the threshold Dorian immediately followed after him. “I’ll come with you. Maker knows you won’t get all that out without my help.”

His voice was teasing, flirty, just a little on this side of suggestive for the amusement of Istimaethoriel, however Lavellan was privy to the daggers Dorian was glaring at him as he stalked after him. Dorian’s posture was stiff and controlled, following Lavellan without making a sound though the elf could practically feel the burn of Dorian’s eyes on his back.

They made it down one flight of stairs before Dorian abruptly grabbed his arm and dragged him into an empty room, closing the heavy wooden door behind them and crowding Lavellan towards the center of the room. Lavellan looked around, studied the ancient picture frames stacked against the wall, the covered furniture that was pushed into the corners. He was about to be murdered in a forgotten storage room.

“Vishante kaffas!” Dorian exploded, the second he was sure no one had followed or could hear them. “What were you thinking?!”

Lavellan blinked at the outburst, the man had thrown his hands into the air and was now pacing in front of Lavellan, looking… “You’re mad.” Lavellan said, unable to hide the surprise in his voice.

“Mad? Mad doesn’t even begin to describe it! What are you even doing?” Dorian exclaimed, stopping his pacing to circle on Lavellan, looking very much like he wanted to strangle the frustrating elf before him. “Have you lost your mind?”

It wasn’t outright anger, Lavellan decided. Dorian wasn’t mortally offended that Lavellan would insinuate they were a couple, instead It was frustration, exasperation. All the times that he had teased Dorian or tried to rile him up he’d been buffed against an immovable wall of charm and wit. This was a different reaction all together, like somehow he had completely bypassed the man’s shields and had immediately struck a raw nerve. It was fascinating. Lavellan knew he shouldn’t be smiling like he was, shouldn’t be amused or delighted with the ‘vint whose patience was likely running thin.

Still, he teased. “You know, when I said I’d explain later I meant a little _later_ than this.”

Dorian broke out into a string of Tevene that would probably make his mother die of shame, pacing a circle around Lavellan while the mage composed himself. “You’ll explain now, thank you!” He finally added in common, as if he had forgotten that Lavellan hadn’t understood his outburst at all. “What possessed you to tell her that we’re together?”

Lavellan sighed, lifting his hand to rub at his forehead. “Because the less she knows about my _activities_ , the better.”

“Right.” Dorian said quickly, snorting in disbelief as he stalked up to Lavellan to look down at him, crossing his perfectly clothed arms and tilting his perfectly groomed head, his expression so haughty that Lavellan felt insignificant, covered in ink as he was, before he reminded himself that this was _Dorian._ “Because talking to _anyone_ in Skyhold for longer than ten minutes won’t tip her off at all. It’s not exactly a secret that the dashing ‘vint isn’t the foreign relations you’ve been _fostering._ ”

Lavellan choked on a laugh, managing to strangle it into a snicker as he shook his head and composed himself. “We’ve got to keep her out of the public eye. She doesn’t talk to anyone, we make the cure, she goes home with it, everyone is happy.”

Dorian thought it was an awful plan. His body language, his expression, everything screamed that he couldn’t be less impressed with the idea, all before he even spoke. “That’s a horrible plan and you should feel terrible for thinking it’ll work. If the Iron Bull finds out he’ll separate my head from my shoulders.”

“Keeping Iron Bull away from my Keeper and unaware of what’s going on is _exactly_ why you need to play along.” Lavellan realized that the earnestness in his voice was almost edging on desperation, which he would rather avoid if he could. He had a prideful mask of his own to maintain, after all.

“You don’t think she’ll approve? Humans are okay, but start fraternizing with oxmen and you’re in trouble? You know, she doesn’t seem the type.”

“I’m sure she’d spare it a few scandalous thoughts figuring out the schematics,” Lavellan began, grinning when the corner’s of Dorian’s lips curled into a smirk despite himself, “Before she’d settle right back down into the business she keeps trying to bring up in her letters. I think if she talks to Iron Bull about it, I’ll be _ended._ I can’t deal with it right now, Dorian. Not like this.”

_Time to fight dirty_ , Lavellan decided as he took a step closer, looking up at the taller mage with the best puppy dog eyes he could manage. Just the tiniest bit of teeth on his lower lip, as if unsure of himself and seeking approval, a hopeful little tilt to his head.

Dorian groaned. While Iron Bull had long since gotten wise to Lavellan’s use of doe eyes, the flashy ‘vint had no resistances to it. “You’ve lost it.” He practically whimpered, forcing himself to look away from the shameless display. “You’ve gone absolutely mad. Too much exposure to the disease, clearly you’re falling ill and your mind was the first thing to go.”

“ _Please_ Dorian.” Lavellan pleaded as he edged a bit closer, reaching out to lay his hands lightly atop Dorian’s chest. The contact froze the altus in place, forcing him to look back down at Lavellan and meet imploring green eyes. The Inquisitor could see cracks beginning to form in Dorian’s resolve.

“I refuse to play along.” He said, though his voice was not near as determined as it had been before. “You’re going to march back up there and tell her the truth. You won’t drag me in to some hair brained scheme.”

“I’ll give you the key to my wine cellar. You _know_ how remarkable my collection is becoming, I’ve seen you drooling over the labels.”

“Kaffas, you’re playing dirty.” Dorian groaned, lifting his hands to Lavellan’s shoulders to keep the elf from practically pressing against him. Lavellan was playing into his natural instincts, aware that close contact with Dorian could fluster the man into dropping his guard. When he was peeled away from Dorian’s body by the hands on his shoulder he made no effort to apologize.

“If you prefer your lover to be a little more _wholesome_ , I can work with that.” Lavellan purred as his lips curled into a wicked grin as Dorian groaned. The man let out a frustrated sound as he threw his hands into the air and walked away.

“You’re insufferable.” Dorian growled, to which Lavellan beamed as he followed him closely, reaching out to pat his arm in a consoling way.

“It will be okay. We play cozy for a few days while we wrap this up, she goes back to Wycome and it’ll be like nothing happened.”

“You’d better protect me when this blows up in your face. Because it _will._ ” Dorian declared, pointing an accusing finger at Lavellan. “The Iron Bull can’t kill you, _you’re_ the herald of andraste. People will notice you’re gone. Me? Not _near_ enough tears will be shed when I turn up dead.”

“I’m going to go change.” Lavellan said with a laugh, walking towards the door as he bumped Dorian’s hip with his own as he walked by. “Everything will work out fine, _Darling._ ”

“Oh, don’t start with pet names.” Dorian scowled, shooting an accusing look at Lavellan. He groaned and pressed his palm to the side of his face. “This is ridiculous. There’s no way we’ll be believable--”

“Just pretend we’re trying to start new rumors for Mother Giselle to spread around.” Lavellan said brightly as he headed out the door before pausing at the threshold to consider it more seriously for a moment. “We’re practically married already, nothing has to change. We just act like we’re fucking when we’re alone.”

“That’s my glorious relationship with the Inquisitor, then?” Dorian scoffed, “Friends that happen to knock boots when nobody's looking? Your romance is certainly something to aspire to. I see now how you swept me off my feet.”

Lavellan laughed, grinning at the ‘vint with amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes. “I’m sure it’s very romantic when we _knock boots._ Probably far more sarcastic wit exchanged than bodily fluids.”

“A tragic shame, really. You’d think we could do better than that.” Dorian said before waving his hands, shooing Lavellan away before the elf could catch on that talk regarding their theoretical sex life was having any sort of effect on him. “Get changed. I’ll play along, but I expect a bottle of your _best_ red delivered to my rooms tonight.”

Lavellan nodded his agreement with that demand, pushing the door open with a hip before he stopped to give the approaching vint a serious look. “Thank you, Dorian. You have no idea how much this helps.”

“I think it would be _better_ if you would just _talk_ to that goddamn qunari you bed and told him you weren’t ready to have him conspiring with your Keeper about your future.” When Lavellan gave him a pained look Dorian shook his head. “No, I need to know. What are you so afraid of? That he’ll reject your culture or that he’ll embrace it?”

Lavellan sighed, closing the door again to lean his back against it, letting Dorian crowd him as he struggled to organize his thoughts. “If tomorrow you were elected Black Divine, would you be able to go back to Tevinter and support the Chantry as it is?”

Dorian blinked, taken aback by the question. “Well, no. Though I never thought much of the Chantry to begin with.”

“The Dalish don’t _know,_ Dorian. We don’t have a chant of light. We don’t have books or scrolls or history readily accessible. We have stories that are based off of old memories that everyone else deemed unworthy of recalling. We follow what customs we can because as odd as it may seem to outsiders, it’s the only thing we have. We honor our gods, but really...What do we know about them? The more I see, the more we uncover of ancient elves and their ways...It doesn’t sit right. Corypheus is digging through elven ruins, and when we find him…”

“You don’t think you’re going to find something that will magically restore your faith.” Dorian said bluntly, and Lavellan sighed.

“The Herald of Andraste.” Lavellan said bitterly, a humorless smirk across his features. “The embodiment of everyone’s faith, without a drop of his own. My Keeper looks to me to help her lead the People but I don’t know how. The Iron Bull is a man of action, he will see an opportunity for me, he will want me to take it -- for my own good and to help others.” Dorian came closer as the volume of Lavellan’s voice dropped, finally leaning on the frame of the door to tuck a lock of long dark hair from Lavellan’s face in a comforting way. “I don’t want him to see me falter. I need more time.”

“A man that could not tell which lie he was living any longer is hardly going to hold a crisis of faith against you, Lavellan.” Dorian said quietly. It struck Lavellan how soft and tempered the words were, deep concern for a friend washing away all the sarcastic bite.

“I just need time.” Lavellan said quietly.

Dorian let out an exhausted noise as he tried to fix a stern eye on the elf, though his gaze was far too fond for it to have any real effect. “ _Festis bei umo canavarum_.” He said in exhausted Tevene as he opened the door. When Lavellan gave him a curious look, Dorian snorted. “You are going to have to work on your Tevene if you’re going to pass as my...lover.” Dorian struggled with the word. “Off with you!”

Lavellan dodged a swat to his rump by dancing out of range, thumbing his nose at Dorian before disappearing to get rid of the now dried ink.

***

The next two days passed in a hurried blur of research and testing. The theories they had developed were good in exactly that state: theories. In practice they began to run into snags that regularly hindered processes, all three of them feeling the pressure as their single patient began to grow weaker each day that passed.

Food was delivered to them and in lieu of returning to their rooms the three of them cycled each other out on a cot that was brought into their room. Dorian and Lavellan were well used to this by now and fortunately Lavellan’s keeper was quick to adapt to the pace, just as willing to make sacrifices to help find the cure as they were. Her magic soon became the base of all of their prototype creations.

There was one thing that was remarkably different for the two young men, however. The purposeful little displays of affection, casual intimate touches to demonstrate their relationship for their appreciative audience. Lavellan would slide into Dorian’s personal space, lean a hip against his side while looking over notes with the other man. When handling items together their fingers would touch unnecessarily, fleeting little movements that would linger far too long to be considered accidental.

When Lavellan’s keeper prepared to lay down, Lavellan would speak to Dorian in quiet, hushed tones so as not to disturb her. His lips were so close to Dorian’s ear that the ‘vint could feel his warm breath, the soft tickle that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up and goosebumps run down his spine. “Stop tickling me, you fiend.” Dorian chided, rubbing his ear and pulling away from Lavellan who grinned. Istimaethoriel laughed when the elf responded by trailing his fingers lightly across Dorian’s bare forearm.

“Tickling? Is that what I’m doing?” Lavellan asked innocently while Dorian forced himself not to wrench his arm away and scrub it furiously where goosebumps were following the trail of those light touches.

Simple little affections that Lavellan always bestowed when he was sure that his Keeper was watching. Dorian played along as the elf wrecked havoc on his nerves, never quite sure when to expect a soft brush of lips or hands or even a playful pinch to the leather of his pants when Lavellan and his Keeper came up behind him.

Not that he didn’t enjoy the playful attention, he occasionally even returned the gestures, allowing himself to act on an impulse to brush hair back from Lavellan’s face or settle an arm around a slender waist and squeeze. Each move was carefully calculated and controlled, reminding himself repeatedly that it was just an act, that he was helping a friend and if he crossed a line it could all very suddenly come crashing down around his head.

Iron Bull was not the possessive type, Dorian had figured that out when the man simply laughed at the multiple Orlesian nobles that had steeled themselves to flirt with the dread Inquisitor. However he _was_ extremely protective. If Dorian overstepped his station and made Lavellan uncomfortable there was no doubt in his mind that the massive warrior pay him back ten fold.

Worse yet if he pushed Lavellan too far, took advantage of the situation to sate some of his less platonic urges and violated Lavellan’s trust, then he could risk their friendship which was far more important to him than the opportunity to push Lavellan up against some flat surface and kiss him until the infuriating elf was breathless. Knowing Lavellan would play along and not refuse him made it all the more worse, Dorian sure that awkward discomfort around him would be just as terrible as outright disdain.

So he played nice and didn’t push his luck, forced himself not to swear when Lavellan goosed him unexpectedly with a disarmingly wicked cackle, dipped his head obediently when Lavellan tugged at his collar so the elf could nibble across his jaw and press a chaste kiss to the smooth column of his throat.

He was going to need all the wine from Lavellan’s collection just to recover from this, nevermind reward himself for his long suffering spirit.

“So you and the Guard Captain.” Lavellan began when the man in question had left after checking in on progress, hoping to encourage his daughter when he spoke to her next. “You’re a couple?”

Lavellan’s keeper blushed to her ear tips, something Dorian found remarkably endearing. “Oh, no. Nothing like that. We’re just...friends.”

The way the man looked at her and the way she looked at him suggested that the truth was something far less platonic. Friend’s didn’t display the amount of devotion the two did. When the Guard Captain watched her with absolute attention it was clearly not just her authority that had him so interested -- nor was it just appreciation that made her smile so warmly or her cheeks glow when they spoke.

“Right. Friends.” Lavellan said with sarcasm dripping from his voice. He was quickly shuffling through notes as he cross-referenced with the results they had just gotten back. So much was simply habit now that he was free to focus his attention on her enough to notice that her blush had not yet died down. “Those types of friends are very pleasant to travel with, are they not?”

“It’s not like that! He’s...he’s a very loyal friend. He’s been a pillar to lean on as I’ve had to deal with the human nobility in Wycome. He’s helped me a great deal and I’ve done my best to return the favour. We’re both working towards the same goal, trying to bring our people together and remove the rift that has always divided us.”

“I promise you dear Keeper that if that man is looking at you like that, he is wanting to be a _pillar_ for you in other ways, as well.” Dorian said with a sly smile, tapping the end of his pen against his fingers as he spoke.

Istimaethoriel sighed, turning to collect her newest creation of magic and examine it carefully, taking her attention off the two teasing mages so that the heat in her face could die down. “I trust him a great deal, with the fate of my people and the success of our mission. But…”

Lavellan’s expression softened into something far more concerned. Dorian found it amusing that the elf acted like he wanted to cut himself off from his people, that he wanted closure from his clan, when he obviously cared so deeply for them.

“It’s not so easy to trust a human with something more personal.”

She nodded tightly, setting down her work to look seriously at the tops of her slender hands. “The People have been betrayed time and time again, we always survive, we move on. What if he betrayed me personally, though? How could I still lead my people? Trust my own judgment? Perhaps one day I’ll be ready to make that jump, but not today.”

Lavellan offered her a smile and a nod though made no attempt to tell her differently. Perhaps with time she would overcome her discomfort or the Guard Captain would prove to her that he was safe to trust, that he would not hurt her. Until that time came, Lavellan was not going to encourage one of his kind to trust a race with a long history of abusing his people. He was not going to push his own personal growth on another.

Istimaethoriel was watching the two of them with a serious expression in between studying the sample in front of her. She was using magic to feel for progress and changes to the prototype they had created, the healing cells within the blood far too small to be visible or studied any other way. She paused to write down an observation before she turned her attention on Lavellan, regarding him with a soft smile.

“I’m happy for you, you know.” She said, the gentleness in her voice the same as she would use to speak to a skittish halla, Lavellan’s head lifting to look at her inquisitively. “That you found someone worthy of you, a partner to be at your side. You were always so isolated, it’s good to see.”

Lavellan offered a slow nod before he turned to smile at Dorian, all charm and flirty intentions as he raised an eyebrow in a well constructed leer. “He is one of a kind, my dashing ‘vint. The only one for me.” Dorian returned the leer with a cocked eyebrow and a flirty grin, amused by the sweet lie as much as the expression on Lavellan’s face.

Lavellan’s Keeper smiled at them, clearly taken with their performance. When both mages returned their attention to their work she spoke up. There was a serious tone to her voice as she broached a matter she was clearly concerned with, displaying hesitation that immediately put Lavellan on edge. “Daenir wanted to tell you that he was sorry.”

Dorian had seen Lavellan angry before. He’d seen the elf so furious he’d tried to tear down a statute with his bare hands. He’d seen the elf overworked, tired and exhausted, had seen him sad and vulnerable on a marked few occasions as well. The tension that appeared across Lavellan almost immediately, the way his jaw tightened as his teeth grit together, the way his eyes immediately dropped down and the way he clenched his fists as if he was about to be attacked -- it was a reaction Dorian had never seen before.

What Dorian couldn’t see was the clammy, sickened feeling in Lavellan’s gut or the urge the elf had to leave the room before the conversation could start. Dorian was about to ask who this _Daenir_ was after a long silence from Lavellan, but finally the Inquisitor spoke up.

“What would the First of the clan have to be sorry for?” Dalish culture was difficult to research, so most of Dorian’s knowledge came from speaking to Lavellan directly. He understood that the First was apprentice to the Keeper and the one who would eventually lead the clan. Higher ranking than Lavellan, who had merely been the Second. Still, the biting tone of Lavellan’s voice and the clear distaste for the man was not explained by the difference in rank. Lavellan had never been the kind to lust for power or be resentful of those in it.

“For how he treated you.” She said softly, a sense of pleading in her voice as she saw Lavellan’s reaction. Clearly it had not been what she had expected. “He never reached out to you, never made you feel at home. He fancied you, you know.” She said with a soft smile. “He told me how much he regretted not pursuing you when he had the chance. He was going to tell you himself, admit how foolish he’d been to push you away because he couldn’t pull you closer--”

“It doesn’t matter now. He’s dead.”

Lavellan’s voice was pure ice with no sympathy whatsoever, sharp enough to make his Keeper flinch and Dorian to blink several times in surprise. It wasn’t until Dorian looked closer that he saw the tremor across Lavellan’s shoulders, the sign that he wasn’t angry or bitter so much as he was _terrified._

Lavellan’s Keeper fell silent and studied her hands, taken aback by the response and unsure of how to proceed. Dorian’s movement broke the tension in the room, the ‘vint taking the few steps to the other side of the table to approach Lavellan, only hesitating for a moment before he looped an arm around trembling shoulders and pulled him close in a hug.

It had been the right choice for immediately Lavellan’s hands fisted into the front of his robes and the elf clung tightly to him, carefully controlling his breathing as Dorian rested his chin on the top of his head, running a ringed hand through long chocolate hair in a soothing way, amazed at the way the Inquisitor decompressed within his grasp.

“Lucky for me you had no elven lover awaiting your return to the clan, or else where would I be?” He said lightly, to which Lavellan let out a little chuckle and leaned his head back to press warm lips to the underside of Dorian’s jaw. Despite the heat these little displays usually brought, this one felt far too much like desperate gratefulness to stir anything within Dorian.

He dipped his lips to the shell of Lavellan’s pointed ear, enjoying the opportunity to let his mouth brush against it as he whispered low as possible. “You planning on telling me what that was all about?”

“No.” Lavellan mumbled into Dorian’s robes while shaking his head, though the little shiver from the tickle of mustache to ear did not go unnoticed.

“Thankfully the Creator’s have been looking out for our little Wildfire.” Istimaethoriel said softly, giving the two of them an apologetic look for bringing it up. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to--”

“It’s fine.” Lavellan interrupted with a sigh, finally pulling himself from Dorian’s grasp to look towards the door. “I mourn his loss even while I rejoice that the rest of the clan is safe. If you’ll excuse me, I need to respond to a message that was sent earlier, I fear I’ve put off meeting Commander Cullen far too long, he has an update on efforts to locate Samson’s lair.”

Just like that Lavellan darted out of the room, leaving Dorian to stare blankly at the dalish woman he was left alone with.

She waited all of two seconds before she made a loud sound of despair and threw her hands into the air, whirling all of her frustration on Dorian. “Has he spoken to you at all about my letters? Has he said anything about the clan?”

Well, that was certainly to the point. “Not at all, I’m sorry.” Dorian said, deciding honesty was the best way through this conversation. He leaned a hip casually against the edge of the table, examining his rings in order to avoid eye contact. “He keeps that sort of thing to himself, I’m afraid.”

“I’m not helping.” Lavellan’s Keeper said with a heavy sigh, sitting down heavily into a chair she pulled up to the other side of the table. “I thought if I came here...talked about his clan, his family, that he’d remember the good in his people. Think we were still worthy of his time.”

“Now, I’m sure it’s not like that.” Dorian said with a shake of his head. “He clearly cares about his clan, he has a big heart.”

“But surely you’ve noticed it too, there's something that’s driven a great divide between us and him. If I understood what it was I would do anything I could to fix it.”

Dorian glanced over his shoulder at the door, almost paranoid for a moment that the Inquisitor they were speaking about would reappear suddenly. “What is your plan, exactly? I was under the impression that he was already sending a great deal of aid to Wycome.”

“That’s the problem! He’ll send gold instead of letters! Soldiers and food and supplies instead of any answer to my questions. I do not want his wealth or his status, I want _him._ I want my little Wildfire back.”

“You might never be able to separate him from the Inquisition.” Dorian said with a frown. “No matter how far he runs, I don’t think he’ll ever be able to leave it behind.”

She sighed heavily, rubbing the side of her face with her hand as she seemed to simply deflate in front of Dorian. “I know. I just wish he would talk to me again, share what he was thinking like he used to. We speak of happy stories now, but there were far too few of those.”

It was like stumbling across a forbidden tome filled with great knowledge, speaking to Lavellan’s Keeper like this. The man spoke so little of his past that hearing it from her was insight into his friend which he never had access to before. “He spoke of being...quiet, that he did not spend much time with others because of his magic.”

“It’s true.” She said quietly, experiments momentarily forgotten. “It’s not uncommon for mage children, all the other young people are learning the Vir Tanadhal, hunting and learning their trades. Instead mages spend our time researching history and magic, delving into old ruins to try and learn more of the old ways, memorizing stories that have been passed down. We’re different...and yet.”

“There was more to it than just magic.”

She nodded. “So much of his later youth he spent withdrawn from the clan. He would lash out at those who tried to include him, spurn all advances towards him. He treated himself like he was nothing more than a tool to protect the People, but no one else saw him that way. I couldn’t understand what had caused the change when he’d been such an open, trusting child.”

She wrung her hands, looking guiltily up at Dorian. To her he was Lavellan’s partner and he realized that she was expecting him to pass judgement on the Clan’s treatment of his lover. Dorian tried to find the words to assure her but there was nothing he could say that could begin to mend the wounds he’d caught glimpses of. Perhaps if he was more than playing the part he could -- he wondered if Iron Bull would do better in this situation. How good was Lavellan at keeping secrets from the previous qunari spy?

“My First told me there was nothing I could do,” Istimaethoriel began, when Dorian failed to fill the silence spanning between them. “He said that his behavior was the product of a twisted mind, that the Creator’s would be the only ones who could reach him.”

The charming relaxed expression across Dorian’s face pulled into a frown, clearly disapproving of that synopsis. He didn’t interrupt as she continued, though there were some choice words forming in his mind regarding the First and his opinions.

“Then one day he stopped shirking his lessons. He came to me one morning with this look, oh Creator’s you should have seen it.” She motioned with her hands like she was cupping someone’s face, recalling the memory so vividly. “Like a kicked halla fawn, so scared I’d somehow send him away. I gave him nothing but my best, and he flourished. He opened up and I knew we’d been wrong about him. Now I wonder...if I missed something. If something was kept from me. Daenir said cruel words sometimes, I hoped that knowing he’d regretted them would cheer Lavellan’s spirits--”

“I’d think it’d for the best you don’t mention him at all, honestly. I’ve never seen him so skittish before.” There was truth to his words and Dorian jumped at the chance to be able to offer advice to try and help.

“I think you’re right.” She said, though her forehead was furrowed and she fiddled with the end of her braid where it draped across her shoulder. “What if--”

“There’s no purpose to speculation.” Dorian interrupted her, deciding that voicing his own suspicions would be nothing but gossip, that hearing hers was somehow too much of an invasion of Lavellan’s privacy. “It’ll get you nowhere. Instead, be there for him like you were in the past. When he’s ready he’ll open up to you again.”

She nodded her agreement with his wisdom, smiling to him then. “I was hoping that sending him to the conclave would do him good. That if he saw how large the world outside the Clan was, he'd come to appreciate the importance of sticking together, of helping the People survive it. I hoped it would help him."

"It did, you know." Dorian said after a moment, considering his elven companion as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Perhaps not in the way anyone could have expected. No one can say that things worked out like they had planned." He gave a bemused laugh before growing serious again. "But him? He's okay. He's in good hands now."

Lavellan's Keeper would not assume Dorian was speaking of a man other than himself, but the words still rang true. Iron Bull was good for Lavellan, his Inner Circle all looked out for him in their own ways. He was flourishing atop the Inquisition.

Lavellan's Keeper straightened, dropping her hands to her side to regard Dorian with a great deal of thought in her expression. Clearly she was measuring him up to his words as if they applied to him and not another. "You aren't what I expected, you know. A human from Tevinter came as a bit of a surprise." She said with a small smile curling the corner of her mouth which Dorian mirrored. How much more of a surprise would it have been for her to meet Lavellan's actual lover. "I see now though, why my little Wildfire took a shine to you."

"I'll have to break out some blood magic rituals soon, lest I disappoint my countrymen's legacy." His grin was contagious, Lavellan's Keeper letting out a bark of laughter. Despite her initial unease Lavellan's constant teasing of Dorian's heritage had convinced her that Dorian was quite unlikely to descend into blood magic any time soon.

"Now, what part of Tevinter did you say you were from? I can't say I ever expected to be so impressed by a Tevinter Magister."

As she finished speaking the door behind them clicked, signifying Lavellan's return. Dorian cast a glance over his shoulder, the elf smiling at him wickedly in a way that indicated he had only heard the tail end of their conversation.

"Oh, that's because he's not actually a _Magister._ Just the son of a Magister. I think there might still be hope for some of them before they get the big 'M' title." He said while casually leaning into the man’s side, looping his arm through Dorian's.

"You clearly have never met many of my fellow Altus. They would change your mind about that in a heartbeat, believe you me."

The expression Lavellan's Keeper had fixed Dorian with drew a smile to the Inquisitor's face, something positively prideful, enough approval to make Dorian feel warm under it. "He's something special, this one. Worth keeping around." Lavellan beamed at him, leaning up on his toes to hook a finger through one of the buckled loops on Dorian's collar. A tug from his finger to pull Dorian's head down was followed by a soft press of lips to Dorian's jaw.

The flush of heat across Dorian's face was probably less the casual affection and press of a warm body into his side, more the open praise. He practically preened under the attention, Lavellan straightening up and eyeing him with a smirk.

"Of course, don't go praising him _too_ much. It'd be impossible to keep his ego at bay should he find out that others think as highly of him as he thinks of himself."

The taunt was plain, as was the teasing curve to Lavellan's lips. His cheek were filled with color and he practically glowed with energy -- Dorian wondered if he had actually gone to see Cullen, or if his little foray had taken him somewhere far more appealing. He certainly looked like he was feeling better. Looked good enough that Dorian couldn't resist the temptation to tuck an arm around Lavellan's waist to pull him close, duck his head and press his lips to Lavellan's cheekbone.

"It's true, there'd be no living with me." He grinned against smooth skin as he spoke. Dorian was surprised when Lavellan squirmed in his grasp, pushing a slender hand between them to scrub furiously at the side of his face as he made an undignified sound.

"Ack! Your mustache is tickling me." Lavellan complained, looking up at Dorian with playful accusation in his expression. Dorian gave him his sweetest, most innocent smile in exchange, stomping down the urges that suddenly threatened to overwhelm him. Like nuzzling into the pale column of Lavellan's throat, pressing his lips to the smooth plain of his stomach, boldly daring to test the texture of Lavellan's most intimate places. How much would the elf squirm against Dorian's mustache if he was buried down his throat?

Thankfully Lavellan's Keeper had said something to draw the elf's attention away from Dorian, giving the taller mage a chance to get his mind back under control. When Lavellan left his side to return to their research Dorian took the opportunity to pour himself a glass of wine, wishing it to soothe the frayed edges of his nerves as he reminded himself that this was only a temporary game to play until Lavellan's Keeper was gone.

When Lavellan looked over his shoulder to see what Dorian was doing, raising a slender brow in question followed by an inquisitive, knowing smile, Dorian resigned himself to the fact that this was not a game he could win.

Hopefully the penalties for losing would not be more than he could handle.


	3. A Sporting Chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You don't have to _laugh_ you know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second half of what was finished, complete with more sex and dialogue because that's pretty much all I do at this point. /o/ Of course the majority of this was edited at a ridiculous time in the morning, so it may have even more errors than usual so I apologize!

Both Lavellan and Dorian had retired for a well deserved rest after finally producing a tangible step of progress. Inside a sealed vial Istimaethoriel's magic was at work, empowering and fusing with the benevolent parts of a healthy blood stream and creating the first sample with which they could create a cure.

Their recent test had proven extremely successful, the cause of great rejoicing amongst the three when it wiped out the traces of disease within one of their small samples. Now they were waiting for the final product to be formed to give to their young patient. While Istimaethoriel shaped it, Dorian and Lavellan both slept like the dead.

When they awoke it was in it's final stages of growth, all of their inspections passing with flying colors. Istimaethoriel was sleeping in the cot next to the table where she had collapsed from exhaustion. With some effort they woke her enough to move her to her guest room and made sure she was sleeping comfortably before they returned to monitor their research.

Nothing but time now, they'd leave it for a few days to grow, their creation eating up the last of Istimaethoriel's magic so that it would stand on it's own strength against the tainted disease.

They checked and re-checked everything. Dorian updated their logs after snatching the fountain pen from Lavellan, teasing that he didn’t want the elf to drench another uniform in ink. Lavellan made a face but cleared their work area, finally hopping to sit up on the table and dangle his feet over the edge as Dorian finished writing beside him. One he was done they chatted exitedly of their progress, riding on the excited high of relief that their quest was nearly complete.

Neither mage jumped when Cole suddenly appeared in the doorway with a loud bang of displaced air, perhaps attesting to just how used to the strange behavior of the spirit boy they were.

"You did it!" Cole exclaimed, holding up a bottle of wine wrapped in a thin cloth. "You want to celebrate!"

"Been keeping track of our progress, have we?" Dorian asked with a smile as he eagerly plucked the wine from Cole's hand to examine the aging label.

"I wanted to help, but Josephine said I had to stay away." He said sadly as he climbed into a free chair, crouching on it awkwardly. "She is good, she lets spirits help her. She seems very nice. Do you think she would like me?"

"I'm sure she would." Lavellan said with a smile as he fetched glasses for Dorian to pour some wine into. "I promise you can meet her next time, okay? This time she has to stay secret."

Cole frowned and opened his mouth to say something, only to hesitate when he looked up and glanced anxiously between the two mages before him. "Okay." He finally conceded, rubbing the side of his face on his sleeve. "If you keep it hidden, no one can help you unravel the tangle. It is knotted and tight, a mess festering inside. If you let them pull it out, the wound could heal."

He was looking at Lavellan pleadingly as he spoke, who shifted uncomfortably and stared into his wine, unsure of how to respond. "I know, Cole." He said, though he didn't fully understand the cryptic words he got the jist well enough. "One thing at a time, okay? We've got to help Wycome first."

Cole's eyes narrowed for a moment as he considered this, clearly wanting to argue though he once again let out a defeated sigh. He'd long since learned that helping Lavellan was not a simple venture, too easy to pull at the wrong thing and make it worse.

Instead he pulled out several small wooden shapes from his pocket, setting them on the table between Dorian and Lavellan. "I made these, for her." He said as he pulled his hand away to reveal small carved toys. One was a small bird painted a brilliant blue, another a brown rabbit, and finally a small mouse with large ears holding a piece of cheese between it’s front paws.

They were exquisitely detailed, painted so carefully that both Dorian and Lavellan looked at them with awe. "These are magnificent, Cole." Dorian said as he put down his wine to pick up the bird carving and admire it closely. "You've gotten extremely good at this."

"Blackwall helped me paint them." Cole said warmly as he smiled wide at the praise. "She misses the outdoors, too much time shut up away from people. She had to leave her pet rabbit behind, the bird that would come to her window and sing, the mouse she gave crumbs to when the servants weren't looking."

"We can give them to her when we give her the treatment, if you'd like." Lavellan said with a tender smile, as touched as Dorian by the sweet thoughtfulness of their companion. “Once she’s better you can meet her.”

Cole beamed at the two of them, his smile as sweet and genuine as any other. “I’d like that.” He said softly.

They talked for a time, Cole relating various events that the two of them had missed while they were so focused on their work -- not that they were particularly relevant. Sera had played more pranks on Cullen, Varric had been working on Cole’s ability to tell jokes with admirably patient dedication, Cassandra had taken up sparring with Blackwall to help train new recruits. Both Cole and Dorian noticed how much more attention Lavellan paid when Cole spoke of Iron Bull, of how the Chargers had been helping repair the fortress and Iron Bull had been putting them through new drills.

The bottle of wine was emptied by the time they were finished, Dorian draining the last few drops into his glass as he let out a sad sigh.

“We could go down to the tavern, have something to eat with some beer.” Dorian pulled a face and Lavellan laughed. “You’ve not given in to your craving for Ferelden swill recently.” Nor had Lavellan given in to his craving for a certain qunari, either.

“Terrible stuff.” Dorian said with a wave of his hand. “Careful with the accusations, lest I mention how the fried slop they call food down there has a special place in _your_ tastes.”

“Mmmm.” Lavellan made a happy noise as his imagination wandered. “When they fry battered fish, the way the outside gets so crunchy and delicious…” Dorian made a disgusted noise and Lavellan laughed as he stood up. “Lets go! I’ll buy the beer, you buy the supper. Cole can make sure we find our way down there after that bottle of wine.”

“Help _you_ find your way down. You’re the lightweight who can hardly walk after a night of cards.” Dorian stated while looping an arm through Lavellan’s, Cole coming on the other side to mirror him and dutifully catch the elf’s other arm as if Lavellan were to pitch over at any minute.

“Seriously?” Lavellan laughed as he scrunched his nose at both of them. “It’s not my fault my Clan’s alcohol did nothing to prepare me for the stuff everyone drinks down here.”

They teased and taunted each other the whole way down to the tavern, falling into their usual roles without hangup. If Cole noticed anything different about the way their touches lingered or how close they walked he said nothing. His willingness to keep their secret could very well have been a bad sign though, the spirit trusting that it would eventually come to light whether he interfered or not. Lavellan decided not to think about it.

As they entered the Herald’s Rest, Cole suddenly perked up. “I have a joke.” He announced to the two of them, stopping in front of them and looking at them with solemn focus. Lavellan and Dorian nodded that they were ready for him to proceed and the spirit-child continued. “An elf, a Tevinter mage, and a spirit walk into a bar.”

Dorian cast Lavellan a side eyed look, the two of them raising an eyebrow when Cole didn’t continue. “...and?” Dorian finally prompted.

“That’s us! We’re here!” Cole beamed as he announced it, clearly pleased with himself.

Dorian snorted despite his attempts to control it, Lavellan snickering at that, putting a hand to the side of his face as he gave a happy sigh.

“I’ve finally figured jokes out!” Cole exclaimed, clapping his hands together in glee. “I need to go tell Varric!”

Lavellan hadn’t the heart to tell him otherwise, not that he was given much chance before Cole suddenly disappeared with a snap of air, leaving Dorian and Lavellan alone in the doorway.

“Someone is going to have to stop Varric before Cole becomes a menace.” Dorian laughed as he touched Lavellan’s shoulder to steer him towards the bar. “Now, I was promised beer, and I demand you keep your word before you go running over to your qunari’s corner and abandon me for the evening.”

Lavellan pulled his gaze guiltily from where he was checking for Iron Bull as he moved. “I would never do that.” He said blithely, before he snorted. "But just for that you're not invited to join us for maaras-lok, later."

"Ugh, leave it to the qunari to drink something only their poison resistances can stomach." As they leaned against the counter of the bar Cabot came up to them, two steins already in hand.

"Here's your usual dog piss." He said bluntly, not  bothering to look up at Dorian who was trying to look put out that the beer was offered as his _usual_. He needn't of bothered, present company considered. "Inquisitor?"

"Do you have that fried fish that tastes like lemon and spices?"

"Of course. We'll send out a plate when it's ready."

"What's the mood?"

Cabot snorted as his face settled into his trademark deadpan.  "Equivocal."

"Oh, I think he's used that one before." Dorian perked up after taking a drink of his beer. "Do you need to borrow my thesaurus? I'm willing to lend it."

"Keep it. Got plenty of wipe for the shitter already, 'vint." The dwarf snorted before he walked away to tend another customer.

When he was gone, Dorian chuckled. "What a charming fellow."

"You lend out your thesaurus?" Lavellan asked instead, raising an eyebrow. "Who does that?"

Dorian laughed and nodded towards a free table in the corner. "You're as insufferable as he is. You're supposed to fawn over my generosity and great sense of humor."

"Oh, I see." Lavellan grinned."It's certainly generous of you, _Master Pavus_ , to offer to pay my tab for the night."

"Lets not go that far." Dorian said as they settled into the booth. "I owe Varric far too much coin for such extravagance."

They chatted amiably before Lavellan begged a deck of cards off one of the waitresses, setting up a game for the two of them while they waited for their food.

From where they were sitting, Lavellan found he could easily glance over Dorian's shoulder to spot the corner where the Chargers had settled down. Iron Bull had returned with Krem shortly after their card game began.

The qunari grinned and gave him a little wave, though he didn't pause conversation with his Chargers or make any move to interrupt their card game. After all, there would be plenty of time to catch up later.

"You know you could be a little more subtle when you molest him with your eyes." Dorian teased, the two of them putting their cards down for a break when Lavellan's food came. "It’s positively sordid."

"I'm not the only one who does it." Lavellan said as he tore off a piece of fish with his fork. " The serving girls, a few of the nobles, a bunch of the soldiers..." He trailed off after he took a bite, grinning around the mouthful when Dorian made a face. "He has that effect on everyone he beds."

Lavellan offered Dorian some of his fish by pushing the plate towards him. The 'vint eyed it disdainfully. "What a disservice you do, keeping him to yourself then." He quipped, before finally speaking his mind on the food. "You know in Tevinter that fish is considered nothing better than scraps? How can you enjoy mud-sucking fish dipped in hot grease and slathered in mystery sauce?"

"It's delicious." Lavellan challenged, sucking sauce from his finger. "The sauce is like heaven. You 'vints are missing out."

"You can be so terribly common, sometimes." Dorian sniffered as he took a drink.

"Someone has to keep you company while you guzzle your Ferelden beer."

"I do not _guzzle._ " Dorian protested, though he made no efforts to defend his choices as he smiled lazily at the elf. "However this mug seems to have disappeared rather quickly. I'll need another."

Lavellan finished his fish and ordered another beer as well, the two of them polishing off multiple steins as they continued their card game. Dorian had done wonders in teaching Lavellan the rules, the elf taking to it far easier than chess.

Late into the evening Lavellan was feeling warm and fuzzy from the alcohol, Dorian equally affected as they found themselves laughing easier as they conspired quietly, planning out raids on the kitchen for the fruit Dorian fancied and whether they could steal a bottle of wine Vivienne had been taunting him with.

Now and then Lavellan would glance over Dorian’s shoulder to catch a glimpse of his lover, Iron Bull drinking and playing dice with the Chargers who were getting louder the longer the night went on. When Bull looked up to catch Lavellan’s eye he blushed when he got a knowing look and a blink the elf was sure was supposed to be a wink. A suggestive tilt of Iron Bull’s head was followed by the qunari touching a thumb to his mouth, giving it the tiniest of licks as he dragged it across his lip. Lavellan flushed up to his ears as his imagination grabbed the visual and ran, uncomfortably eager to press a variety of things to Iron Bull’s lips instead.

His flush was apparently clearly visible because Iron Bull grinned wickedly and returned to his conversation with Krem as nonchalantly as possible. _Bastard._

“Either you’ve finally grown eyes to notice my stunning good looks, or you’re ignoring me to make eyes at that qunari of yours again.” Dorian teased, drawing Lavellan’s attention and turning the flush in Lavellan’s cheeks to embarrassment. The human’s voice was light enough to mask any irritation he was feeling. “You can go to him if you want, I’ll consider this game your loss and claim the winnings.” Dorian’s smile showed off straight white teeth and Lavellan scoffed.

“I’m _winning_ , you wicked man. You’re not going to get out of losing to me that easily.” Lavellan declared while bringing his attention back to his cards, deciding Iron Bull was just as evil  as Dorian for wiping out his ability to concentrate on his cards.

The alcohol made Lavellan easier to read and Dorian picked up on his dilemma right away. Perhaps he suffered from the same lack of shields when buzzed, for he wasn’t able to hide his irritation. “Honestly, I don’t understand what you _see_ in that brute.”

“That’s strange, he certainly doesn’t hide the goods.” Lavellan smarmed with a waggle of eyebrows that made Dorian snort. “Don’t think I haven’t seen you admire the merchandise, you’re as curious about qunari as I was. I’ve read the books that come out of Tevinter.”

“I would never read those filthy books about poor helpless ‘vints getting captured and _interrogated_ to the point of exhaustion.” Dorian said, all mock offence. “Where did you get that idea?”

“The same place I got the book I swiped off you.” Lavellan grinned from ear to ear when Dorian’s cheeks flushed. “I’ll have you know that while the author earned points for creativity in some areas, they were _wildly_ conservative in others.”

Dorian spluttered and quickly took a drink from his stein in order to try and hide his drop in poise, giving Lavellan a filthy look as he composed himself. “You are a _fiend,_ you know that?”

“A fiend who knows what he wants.” Lavellan smirked, leaning back as he attempted to sort through the cards in his hand to recover what strategy for them he’d lost. “You can play refined all you want, but sometimes there’s nothing better than letting all that go and giving in to something _savage._ ” Lavellan watched Dorian from behind his cards, eyes muzzy with alcohol and the heat of the conversation.

It stirred something in Dorian, who would normally let the subject die, scoff and tease Lavellan about it instead of pursuing it further to avoid the risk of riling the elf to watch him get heated. Instead he leaned forward and set his cards down, looking at the flushed elf in front of him with an appraising gaze.

“So that’s why you are so interested in him? Primal instinct? Good sex?”

“ _Good_ is kind of an underwhelming term, isn’t it?” Lavellan challenged with a smirk, though the assurance made Dorian shift uncomfortably.

“As fun as being a dick cozy for a qunari may be, do you ever imagine being with someone for more than sex?”

Lavellan got caught on ‘dick cozy’ and laughed for a moment, too relaxed and amused by the statement to realize the seriousness that had settled over Dorian, how important the question was to the ‘vint for a multitude of reasons. To the ‘vint who had left the opulent luxury of his homeland because he couldn’t live a lie, couldn’t be satisfied with dalliances and mindless sex, the idea that his best friend was so caught up in the thrill he missed the chance at more was a serious topic.

Especially when that chance was sitting directly across from him, waiting for Lavellan to realize that he wasn’t laughing with him. It took a moment for Lavellan to catch up, eyeing Dorian curiously as his happy smile faded. “Wait, you’re serious?” When Dorian said nothing, Lavellan frowned as some of his cheerful buzz slipped away. “I’m not some plaything, I have more self-respect than that.”

Dorian leaned over the table some more, his voice quiet so as not to let any eavesdroppers hear their conversation. “I know that. You’re this gorgeous, prideful creature, and I don’t understand why you waste yourself on _him_ when you could get _more_ somewhere else.” When Lavellan said nothing, his expression suddenly guarded and unreadable as his buzz disappeared, Dorian faltered. “I know that love isn’t something many people find, but maker, you deserve it. You could find it if you just opened your eyes.”

Dorian’s words were earnest, even a little hopeful as he watched Lavellan consider his words. Some small part of him wished Lavellan would look up and _see_ him, see how badly Dorian wanted just a chance, how he wanted to be more than the pretend lover, the friend. Just a chance to try and be something so honest and open for someone, to maybe, just maybe, have someone look at him with something more important than lust.

Instead when Lavellan met his gaze he looked angry, leaning across the table with his teeth clenched, voice low and holding more venom than Dorian had ever felt directed at himself before. “I don’t know what your opinion of the Iron Bull is colored with, Dorian. But it is utterly _beneath_ you. Since he left the Qun he has been given the opportunity to live like any of us, to love and be loved and he _deserves_ that as much as either you or I. You’re going to have to get over this racist bullshit that makes you think we’re incapable of more than using each other for sex.”

Lavellan stood up, his posture as clipped and harsh as his tone as Dorian panicked, confused at how his words had been misconstrued so terribly. The elf assumed Dorian was declaring Bull incapable because he didn’t believe qunari more than sex objects, something to be fetishized in trashy literature and experimented with for the thrill, completely missing Dorian’s hope that _he_ could offer something better.

“ _Kaffas_ , I didn’t mean--”

“Then next time, if you don’t want to ruin an evening, drop the bit where you trash talk my lover.” Lavellan said crossly, plucking up his stein and draining it swiftly while Dorian scrambled for words to defend himself. “Qunari are only good for sex? What’s next? Elves can’t want to be more than just slaves?”

“ _No._ Now you’re just twisting my words. I didn’t say anything like--”

Lavellan cut him off. “Enough, Dorian. I’m happy with the Iron Bull. I don’t look elsewhere because there is _nothing_ else of interest.”

Lavellan didn’t realize how deep the words pierced, how his tactless anger and pride cut through Dorian’s vulnerability to leave a sharp sting that made Dorian flinch and deflate. He stalked away towards the Chargers, leaving Dorian to fuss with the cards on the table a moment to compose himself. It didn’t work, perhaps the alcohol making it hurt worse, surely not the words themselves because he _refused_ to be so affected. He stood abruptly, nearly knocking over his chair, determined to apologize and make things right. Because their friendship was the important thing and he refused to let words he had known better than to say ruin that.

When he looked over and saw Lavellan greeting the Chargers with a fresh smile, sliding into Iron Bull’s offered lap to be immediately wrapped up in a strong arm, his determination faltered. He watched as all that angry tension in Lavellan completely melted away, how the elf became docile and needy as he pressed close to the qunari and lay kisses across a bare neck to the catcalls of the Chargers watching them. Iron Bull was the only one who seemed to notice him, immediately picking up the tension in Dorian as he looked at him curiously, a frown pulling at his features as he put two and two together.

He told himself. He’d fix it tomorrow. He practically fled the tavern, wishing like everything he hadn’t been so foolish so as to open his mouth in the first place.

 

After watching Dorian leave, Iron Bull said nothing for a while as he listened to the stories that had resumed over the dice game. Lavellan obliged when the qunari held the dice to his face, blowing on them with a smile for luck before Iron Bull rolled them. When they turned up a lucky seven the elf blushed into Iron Bull’s neck at the praise immediately bestowed upon him by the group, eventually relaxing happily against Iron Bull as he watched and listened.

When Rocky broke into an excited story and drew everyone’s attention, Iron Bull squeezed a hand on Lavellan’s thigh as he dipped his head to speak softly to the elf. “Hey Kadan, what did you say to Dorian?”

“Huh?” Lavellan blinked, snapping his attention away from Rocky to look at Bull from under dark eyelashes. “Oh, nothing. It’s fine.”

“Didn’t look fine. He looked like you told him he was banned from the library.”

Lavellan shifted unconsciously, unaware of how many tells he had or how easy it was for Iron Bull to read them. “It’s nothing, really. He was being an ass, I told him to stop.”

Iron Bull blinked in surprise, straightening a bit as he tugged gently away from him, preventing the elf from hiding his face in the qunari’s shoulder. “Dorian. Being an ass to _you_? I didn’t think that was possible.”

Lavellan chuckled, nodding his agreement. “He was just...being too Tevinter, like Sera says. He’ll be fine when he sobers up.”

“You know, it looked a lot more serious from here.” Iron Bull said with a knowing amount of bluntness, letting on to Lavellan that he had been watching the whole display. _Crap._ “What was he saying?”

“Nothing I care to repeat.” Lavellan said with narrowed eyes, suddenly feeling on the defensive, despite being sure he was in the right.

“Alright. So then tell me what _you_ said, because it seemed like it was pretty mean.”

Lavellan groaned, grateful for the fact that Rocky’s story was becoming a group effort, the Chargers getting louder as they each pitched in to help tell it. “I didn’t say anything…” Lavellan sighed, giving Iron Bull a pained look like he was greatly put out. “He was being racist. Kept talking shit about you, so I told him to shove it.”

“Oh?” Iron Bull asked, the curl of his lips giving away his amusement at this development. “What kind of shit was he talking?”

“You know, there’s really no reason to repeat it. He was just drinking, I’m sure he didn’t mean--”

“Yeah, Kadan. Someone saying things they wouldn’t normally say while they are drunk has never happened to me before, so I’m likely to hold it against them later.”

Lavellan felt so much like a child being chastised that he finally growled, baited into defending himself much as his lover had intended. “Creator’s you’re nosy!” He grumbled, “Fine! He kept criticizing my choice in lover, because clearly you’re just a qunari savage only interested in sex, so obviously I should find someone else because a qunari isn’t fit--”

Iron Bull interrupted his rant before Lavellan could rile himself up. “Did he actually say because I was a qunari?”

“Well..” Lavellan’s eyes narrowed as he considered this, trying to sort through the fog of the alcohol still hanging over him to remember Dorian’s words. “He may not have used those _exact_ words, but what else would he have meant?”

When Iron Bull let out a heavy sigh it seemed a very thoughtful sound, the qunari squeezing Lavellan’s thigh again comfortingly for a moment as he checked to make sure none of the Charger’s were paying too close attention. Not that it was very likely, what with Dalish and Skinner up on the table using wild hand gestures to re-enact a fight from Rocky’s story.

Lavellan might not have an idea why Dorian would bring up the topic, but Iron Bull was not so unobservant. The question would be what had triggered it, but he was sure that would reveal itself in time. “I think tomorrow you should apologize for being an ass to him.” Iron Bull said firmly, smiling when Lavellan’s head jerked up in surprise. “Make sure that he knows you still want to be his friend and you’re not mad at him.”

“Wait, _what_?” Lavellan blinked, unable to wrap his mind around the fact that his lover wasn’t agreeing with him and telling him he’d done the right thing. “Why should _I_ apologize? I was just standing up for you! _He_ should be the one to--”

“I don’t need you getting offended and defending my honor, Kadan.” Iron Bull said patiently, pausing for a moment to use a thick finger and tuck some of Lavellan’s hair behind his ear, smiling while the elf gave him a disbelieving look. “ _Especially_ against people we both know ain’t guilty of what you accused him of.” Disbelieving turned into flabbergasted and Lavellan opened his mouth to argue, only to close it a second later. “Think about it.” Iron Bull said, leveling a deadpan expression to the elf in his lap. “This is _Dorian._ Your best friend, who you’ll be writing letters to for the rest of your life no matter how far apart you end up. Dorian who teaches you how to play chess and cards, reads you shit out of Tevinter tomes that gets your all bright-eyed and excited.”

Lavellan considered this, his face betraying the swing of his emotions as he put these all together under Iron Bull’s guidance, suddenly looking very guilty. “You’re going to apologize.” Iron Bull prompted with another squeeze to Lavellan’s thigh.

“You’re right.” Lavellan sighed as he let his forehead drop against Iron Bull’s shoulder. “I’ll apologize in the morning. Apparently I get touchy when I’m drunk.”

“I’d say exhaustion and a non existent sleep schedule have more to do with that.” Iron Bull said, threading his fingers through Lavellan’s hair and tugging his head back enough to press scarred lips to Lavellan’s forehead.

“Maybe. You know what would help?” Lavellan practically purred, giving Iron Bull a damn good idea where the elf was taking the conversation before he had even formed the words. “Some of this wild qunari sex Dorian is sure I’m having.”

“He’s sure you’re having it because he sleeps in the next tent over, and even a gag can’t keep you quiet.”

“Oh.” Lavellan’s cheeks flushed straight to his ears as he considered this, not having to think too far back to recall their last trip to the Hinterlands. He’d been rather insistent on disturbing Iron Bull’s rest, climbing ontop of the man with eager mouth and hands, riling him out of his slumber. He’d ended up pinned underneath his lover with a gag in his mouth and his hands tied roughly behind his back. There _might_ have been some noise. “Well. Maybe I’ve forgotten and need you to refresh my memory.” He teased, shimmying higher up Iron Bull’s thigh, pressing in closer to him to press his lips neatly to Iron Bull’s neck.

“Can do, Kadan.” Iron Bull chuckled. He didn’t bother interrupting the Charger’s and their story as he passed his chips across to Krem and thumbed towards the exit before he stood. His lieutenant laughed and gave a thumbs up when the qunari grabbed Lavellan by the waist, abruptly flipping the elf over his shoulder as he headed up the stairs. Cat calls from the rest of the Chargers followed while Lavellan twisted in his grip, earning nothing more than a slap on the ass for his efforts.

Iron Bull barely took the time to flip the lock on the door before he bodily tossed Lavellan onto the bed, the elf letting out a squawk of surprise when he hit the tangle of heavy blankets.  The qunari advanced on him after toeing out of his boots, settling on the bed and quickly pulling the squirming elf under him.

Perhaps Iron Bull still sensed the rawness that the fight with Dorian had left exposed, had noticed the way that the alcohol had slowed Lavellan’s usually quick fingers and made it difficult for the elf to undress himself, or maybe it was just the way Lavellan looked up at him, openly reverent without any of his usual mischievous spark. His touches were reassuring instead of teasing, his mouth absolute as he licked into Lavellan’s and stole away his breath. As he took apart Lavellan with sure touches and slick fingers the elf cried his thanks into Bull’s shoulder, gripping the qunari’s back tightly with slender fingers hard enough to leave red marks in their wake.

When they were finished Iron Bull stretched out on the bed and lifted his arm to accept the elf who quickly pressed into his side, one slender leg thrown across Bull’s, an arm resting on a thick chest as the elf used the qunari’s arm as a pillow.  Iron Bull admired the sleeping Inquisitor thoughtfully as he ran big fingers through long hair, letting himself relax even as his mind refused to settle.

There was no doubt his lover would awaken later as he always did, and hopefully once the elf was no longer muddled with the effects of ferelden beer, they would talk.

 

Lavellan awoke slowly to the dull light of stars above him, smiling when he placed himself in Iron Bull’s quarters above the tavern. It wasn’t often they ended up here any more, usually the trip to his rooms in the Keep-proper were worth the extra walk, especially since Iron Bull had taken to sleeping with him every night. It was still convenient to have a room so close to the tavern, Lavellan thought to himself as he slowly untangled himself from the qunari’s grasp, enough so that one of these days he would see the ceiling repaired.

He shifted his weight with grace as he climbed between Iron Bull’s spread legs, settling between them with practiced ease as he lowered his head to press kisses to the top of Iron Bull’s groin. A large hand settled in his hair immediately and Lavellan looked up in surprise, finally noticing the glint of Iron Bull’s eye in the dark that showed the qunari was well awake and alert where he was propped up against the headboard.

“Can’t sleep?” Lavellan asked with a soft smile as he nuzzled into the groomed hair above the qunari’s length, wicked fingers squeezing the sides of Iron Bull’s hips as he spoke against skin.

“Just thinking.” The qunari said, his voice low and amused as he squeezed his grip tighter in Lavellan’s hair when the elf dipped his head to run the point of his tongue down the length of the qunari’s soft cock.

“What are you thinking about?” Lavellan asked with a voice practically oozing sex and suggestiveness, his lips parting to let the head of Iron Bull’s length rest teasingly between them. Subtle the elf was not.

“Dorian.” Iron Bull grunted instead, a grin pulling at his lips when Lavellan’s head shot up, the elf giving him an incredulous look.

“ _Dorian_?” Lavellan echoed with enough disbelief that Iron Bull’s grin turned into a laugh. “You’ve got your dick in my mouth and you’re thinking of _Dorian_?”

“Don’t worry, little elf.” Iron Bull chuckled, using the grip he had in Lavellan’s hair to pull his head back down to his groin. “You’re quickly getting my attention.”

Lavellan snickered as he obliged his lovers direction, quickly parting his lips to press the thick head of Iron Bull's cock back into his mouth, wasting no time in giving it proper attention as he swirled his tongue around it, sucking noisily on the soft flesh.

Iron Bull knew the elf had a great fascination with this, had woken up many times to Lavellan's mouth swallowing down his cock, all eager and needy for more. It was obvious how much Lavellan enjoyed swallowing down his soft prick, from the way his eyes hooded as he nuzzled his nose into trimmed pubes, rested his chin on the swell of Bull’s balls. The blissful expression as he swallowed the soft head into the back of his throat always made both of them moan in enjoyment.

Iron Bull settled back against the headboard and relaxed, stroking his fingers through Lavellan's hair as he closed his eyes and concentrated. The firm, slurping strokes of a tongue, the feel of Lavellan's throat closing tight and swallowing around the sensitive head of his cock, the wet heat and slick plushness of Lavellan's mouth all tested his control to it's absolute limit.

The Ben-Hassrath had trained him to be impervious to any amount of physical stimulation, whether it be pain or pleasure. Iron Bull willed himself to stay soft as long as possible, just to give his lover a little more time to deepthroat him. With Lavellan he was unable to withstand the teasing long, always gave in far sooner than any of his trainers would have approved of. He hadn't told his lover that he could best Ben-Hassrath training, the admission would surely make the elf insufferable. The cocky shit gave the best head and he already blighted well knew it. A challenge then, which the elf would accept with a glint in his eyes, a test of his prowess.

When big green eyes wet with strain looked up at him, Iron Bull groaned and surrendered, rolling his hips against Lavellan's mouth to shove himself deep as he could into that wet heat, feeling Lavellan’s throat constrict as he lodged himself deep as he could go.

Then, as he began to grow and stiffen, the agonizing bliss of being squeezed into something that could barely contain him. Lavellan's noises would always peak then, as Iron Bull's cock cut off his air, as his throat was stretched and his mouth filled.

Iron Bull already knew how easy it would be to bring Lavellan off like that, to pinch his nose shut and force his head down, cutting off Lavellan’s air completely for scant few moments, but it was always enough to tip his lover over the edge before he let the elf pull off to gasp for air as he came back to himself.

Before Iron Bull could consider exactly how to proceed, to his great surprise Lavellan pulled away when his lover began to thicken in his mouth, licking his lips as he circled his tongue around the head of the stiffening cock, meeting Iron Bull's eye with devious delight.

"So what has Dorian on your mind?"

"You little shit." Iron Bull said with a huff, though he was unable to stifle the laugh that followed. The elf learned quick, that was for sure. Lavellan was growing more devious and cunning by the day, something which would no doubt keep Iron Bull on his toes until the day he died.

"Wondering if he's any good at this?" Lavellan asked, still meeting Iron Bull's gaze as he smiled against the qunari's length. Slender hands were using the slickness of his own saliva to stroke Iron Bull into absolute hardness. "I wonder how far down his throat you could get?"

The question was followed with the velvety heat of Lavellan's mouth as he swallowed him down again, unable to push Bull far into his throat but still eager to try, squeezing the base of the qunari's cock where his mouth couldn't reach instead.

"No, that's _not_ what I was wondering." Iron Bull managed to groan out before he finally seized Lavellan's hair and used his grip to pull the elf's head back. It was positively lewd the way the Inquisitor fought to keep Bull in his mouth, only letting it out with a slick popping sound when the qunari pulled him completely off. Even then he strained into Bull's hands, trying to reach the length that jutted up so eagerly for his attention.

The whine that fell from Lavellan's lips proved that two could very much play at this game.

"I was wondering what prompted his little outburst with you tonight."

Lavellan's groan was highly satisfying in it's frustrated annoyance earning a grin from Iron Bull. With one big hand still firmly threaded through Lavellan's hair to keep away any attempts to distract him, he used his other to run a calloused thumb down the smooth line of Lavellan's jaw.

"We drank a lot, that's all." Lavellan said softly, his lips parting obediently when Iron Bull's thumb dragged across the soft flesh of his lower lip. "He’s just parroting what Tevinter taught him, but he knows that you're not like the qunari he was raised to hate."

"I'm sure that's not it." Iron Bull grunted, slipping his thumb into Lavellan's mouth and testing the sharp edge of his teeth before the soft pliance of his tongue. "He got over that ages ago. We duked it out and moved on. Do you remember any of his exact wording?"

Lavellan frowned in concentration while he suckled the tip of Iron Bull's thumb. After a moment he grinned and pulled back to speak. "He said it must be great fun to be your dick cozy."

Iron Bull snorted, taking his hands away. Lavellan had been drawn into the conversation now, straightening when Iron Bull released his hair to perch across Iron Bull's thighs, looking at him clearer in the moonlight. It didn't take much to interest Lavellan in Dorian's affairs.

"Like those cute little knitted things Scout Harding’s mom sends for her for her teapot? There's a visual image."

Lavellan was laughing as Iron Bull settled large hands on either of his hips, squeezing tight to watch the elf squirm in his grasp. "He said I could find a real relationship if I started looking for one."

Iron Bull hummed thoughtfully, watching the way Lavellan's skin colored red under his nails as he dug the blunted things into soft flesh, enjoying the way Lavellan arched when he scratched them gently down his back. When Lavellan's tipped his head back with a soft sigh, Iron Bull couldn't resist. He pulled the elf close, sliding him up so his legs spread wide around Bull's hips while he pressed his mouth to the pale skin of Lavellan's neck, licking and biting at it with a satisfied growl as Lavellan squirmed against him.

"I don't think this was about his opinions of me at all." He finally said against Lavellan's ear as he pulled his head up. His hands squeezed Lavellan's ass tightly, just so he could enjoy the feel of his lover trembling against him. "I think he'd swigged enough liquid courage to try and get you to cozy on _his_ dick."

Lavellan jerked out of his pleasured haze in surprise, blinking at Iron Bull with blank disbelief. "What? Dorian isn't interested in having sex with me."

"Right." Iron Bull chuckled, pressing a kiss to Lavellan's forehead as if placating a child. "Just like Blackwall isn't broody and Varric isn't prone to spin stories."

Lavellan frowned, shaking his head to argue. "No, you're wrong. We play at it all the time, sure. We flirt and tease each other a lot but it's just for show. We're just friends."

"And how does that prevent him from wanting to take you for a ride?"

Lavellan looked annoyed this time, though his glare was considerably softened by the way his lips were still wet and swollen, his hair messed from Iron Bull's hands and his neck and shoulders marked with love bites. "Because..." When he couldn't seem to come up with a proper reason the elf became more annoyed. "I’m not his type. He’s looking for someone more…”

When Lavellan couldn’t find the proper description Iron Bull snorted with amusement and rubbed his hand down Lavellan’s side. “What I don’t get is what sparked him to say anything about it at all. He usually keeps that shit real close to his chest.”

Lavellan knew _exactly_ why and the guilt hit him full force. If Iron Bull was right, and Creator’s curse him he usually was, then he’d made a huge mistake making Dorian play along with his scheme. Above all Dorian was his friend. He’d assumed the strain he was putting on the man would be due to Dorian’s resistance to Lavellan continually invading his personal space.

To Lavellan’s chagrin, all of his guilt must have been plainly visible to the qunari holding him because Iron Bull’s eye narrowed suspiciously as his hands tightened around Lavellan’s hips, pinning him in place when the elf began to squirm away. “Okay, well. I _might_ be partially responsible for that.” Lavellan said quickly, trying to do something about his shifty tells but clearly unable to do a proper job of it.

“Right.” Iron Bull said, a lazy smile starting to pull across his features. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with what you’ve been hiding from me the past week?”

“Hiding? Me?” Lavellan said, struggling just a little harder to pull away from Iron Bull’s lap, finding himself firmly in place as the qunari instead pulled him closer, pressing him against a wide chest. Iron Bull ducked his head so that he was practically nose to nose with Lavellan, still smiling as he watched the elf shift nervously. “I-I don’t k-know what you mean.” Lavellan stuttered, breath hot against Bull’s skin as his hands fidgeted to draw patterns with his fingertips across dark skin. “Y-you know we’ve just been...real busy. That’s all. Putting a lot of stress on him to get the cure done, and -- you know, I’m pretty tired. Are you tired? I think it’s bed time don’t you?”

Iron Bull started to chuckle as Lavellan babbled, turning his mouth to the elf’s ear and teasing it with his teeth, making the elf squirm even more as his cheeks flushed up. “Kadan.” Iron Bull said with a soothing voice, interrupting the elf’s babbling. Lavellan’s breath caught when Iron Bull’s hands slid down to grip his ass tightly while he rocked his hips upwards, rubbing the elf across his still-hard cock. “You know Kadan, I try _really_ hard to give you a sporting chance when you’re trying to keep secrets.” Iron Bull chuckled, “But I’ve been trained to know what people are hiding for my _entire life_ , and you’re pretty new to this being sneaky shit.”

Lavellan let out a little whimper, knowing full well he was caught and offering a little kiss to Iron Bull’s jaw in effort to distract him. It of course didn’t work, but he got a smile from Iron Bull for his efforts. “I...may have fucked up.” Lavellan admitted quietly, tilting his head to the side and doing his best to look innocent. Void the Iron Bull anyways for seeing right through it and letting out a dark chuckle. “You don’t have to _laugh_ , you know.” He huffed before finally straightening to speak. “The last shipment we received from Wycome was a sample that me and Dorian could properly test from. That sample is...a patient, from Wycome. A girl.” Iron Bull frowned, which let Lavellan know that the man hadn’t been aware of everything he’d been hiding. “We’ve been trying to save her. My....clan’s Keeper came with her. To help.”

“Which is why Josephine wouldn’t let me into the tower.” Iron Bull said, leaning back against the headboard as he considered the elf in his lap. “She wanted to talk to you about the letters in person, then?”

“Yeah.” Lavellan admitted, before giving Iron Bull a pained look as he processed the man’s words, tense as a wire. “You knew?”

“About the letters? Yeah. Red handed them to me and said ‘You should read these before you give them to him’ whenever they arrived.” When Lavellan’s tension didn’t lessen, he smoothed a hand up the elf’s side. “Your mood changed every time you got ‘em, Red wanted to make sure you were okay, so she left it with me. I figured you’d tell me about them when you were ready.”

“I…” Lavellan sighed, looking at his hands. He wanted to be upset that Iron Bull had read his mail, yet he couldn’t be when he accounted for the amount he’d been hiding from his lover. “I thought I could avoid everything if I walked away.” Lavellan finally muttered.

“Hey now, Kadan.” Iron Bull said, pulling him close with big arms, wrapping him up and letting the elf settle against his chest again, head tucked under his chin. “It’s alright. It’s okay to be unsure sometimes.” When Lavellan said nothing, simply snuggled harder into Iron Bull’s chest, the man pressed his lips to Lavellan’s hair. “Has she talked to you about it?”

“We haven’t had the chance, I’ve been avoiding it.” Lavellan mumbled. “She wants my advice, she wants to know how to lead the clan and...I just don’t know. I don’t have a clue what’s best for the People, I don’t know how to keep them safe. I don’t know if the old ways are worth anything anymore. I just don’t _know_!”

Iron Bull continued to soothe him as his voice raised, as he let out his anger and as he wallowed in his guilt and shame. “We’ll figure it out, Kadan. Just give it some time.”

Lavellan finally began to calm after a while, leaning up off of Iron Bull’s chest to look him in the eye. “So I figured if I could keep her contained to as few people as possible, I could get her out of Skyhold quickly and avoid talking about it.”

“You wanted to keep me away from her.”

“Yes.” Lavellan agreed, before he blanched. “No! I mean, uhh…” He trailed off, daring a quick glance up at Iron Bull and finding the man still watching him with amusement. “Yes.” He finally admitted with some amount of sureness in his voice. “She’d have you eating out of her hand in minutes, then she’d convince you to help her.”

“You’re so sure I’d side with her, huh?”

“She’s basically a mini Tamassran.” Lavellan argued. “A tiny little redhead with a big heart and a cool head on her shoulders. She’s totally your type, you’d love her.”

“Now I want to meet her.” Iron Bull complained, a spark in his eye to match Lavellan’s deviousness for sure.

“No! You can’t!” His hands tightened into little fists on Iron Bull’s chest. “Because she...she thinks me and Dorian are a couple. She thinks Dorian was the one I was talking about in my letters.”

Iron Bull stared at Lavellan blankly for several long moments as the elf shifted guiltily in his lap, apparently at a loss for words as he tried to process this. Finally he burst into a laugh, shaking his head at the elf in front of him. “ _May_ have fucked up, you said? How exactly did you come up with _that_ plan?”

The fact that the qunari was so damn amused by it did wonders for Lavellan’s worry, though very little for his pride. “I’ll have you know, she was the one who assumed we were together. She said we made a good couple so I decided to agree with her.”

“And Dorian didn’t protest to this at all?”

“He did.” Lavellan nodded, feeling a little guiltier about that now. “I immediately came up with a clever web of lies to entangle us in. Dorian didn’t know what hit him.” When Iron Bull continued to laugh, Lavellan grew sheepish. “He was kind of stunned speechless for the first bit of that conversation. Later on when we were alone he argued with me and said it was a horrible idea.”

Iron Bull struggled to breathe through his laughter, his chest heaving under Lavellan’s hands as he tried to contain himself for the benefit of his lover. “Man, Kadan. We really need to work on your ability to formulate plans under pressure.” Lavellan opened his mouth to argue and was silenced by a thick finger pressed to his lips as Iron Bull grinned at him. "Remember Adamant? Oh no, we're falling from a broken fortress, instead of casting a barrier or something, lets _tear a hole into the fade and go play with the giant nightmare demon instead."_

Lavellan snickered despite himself, the exasperation in his lover's voice making it very clear how horrible he thought that plan had been. "Okay, so maybe when I'm panicking I don't come up with the brightest ideas." He allowed, crossing his arms and eyeing the qunari with a smirk pulling at his mouth. "We're very believable, though. It won't be much longer until she's gone."

Iron Bull hummed as he considered this, finally baring sharp canines as he grinned at Lavellan with a quirked eyebrow and a wicked glint in his eye. "So, have you slept with him?"

There was no heat to the question, no suspicion or anything besides the good natured teasing. Lavellan knew that another man might address the issue much differently, but not Iron Bull. They were far too open with each other, neither of them raised with jealousy or possessiveness ingrained.

“She didn’t need _that_ much convincing.” Lavellan snorted, leaning up to suckle at the qunari’s lower lip.

“Yeah?” Iron Bull mumbled, responding to the press of lips with a kiss of his own, smiling when Lavellan’s mouth parted easily for him to taste. After a moment he pulled away, obviously still curious. “What have you done to him?”

Lavellan hummed, his lips slick and red from the kiss. “I’ve put my arm around him, held his hand, kissed his cheek, his jaw, his neck.” He said thoughtfully, mimicking the kisses on Iron Bull’s warm flesh as he went.

“How sickeningly fluffy and domestic.” Iron Bull snorted, tugging on Lavellan’s hair to lean his head back. “So you’ve been invading his personal space and hitting him with _almost_ intimacy non stop for days? That explains how you worked the guy into knots.”

Lavellan’s guilt returned and he gave a soft noise of protest. “I haven’t tried to... _seduce_ him. He’s not interested in bedding me, he told me I wasn’t his type back in Haven.”

Iron Bull chuckled in response, pushing Lavellan’s hair back from his face to look at him squarely. “Right, in Haven. When you were a skittish little thing that he felt like a bully for teasing. I can imagine that the ‘vint who grew up with meek little elven slaves bowing at his feet wouldn’t be very interested in bedding one. Then you stopped taking shit off of people, grew into yourself and became this…” Iron Bull groaned then, his hands dropping to Lavellan’s waist to squeeze at it tightly as he rolled his hips up against Lavellan’s ass again. “This strong, confident ball of sarcastic charm. Suddenly you were his equal, could meet him toe to toe and give as good as you got. Get it?”

The way Iron Bull’s cock was sliding against the curve of his ass as the man rocked his hips was a terrible distraction, but Lavellan did his best to focus. “There’s plenty of other people that would bed him, he’s not without suitors."

"You got it wrong, Kadan. He's not looking at you wondering how quickly he could get you into his pants and out of his system. He's not looking for a quick fuck or else he'd probably have tried already. He's focused, driven. He's looking to his future, he just keeps seeing you in it."

"You mean..." Lavellan considered this, even as he arched his back and let Iron Bull have full access to his neck, his voice cut off into a whimper when sharp teeth marked down his throat. His breath was heavy when he managed to focus on his words again. "No, he's looking for someone more--" Iron Bull's hands at his back pulled him upwards so he could suckle roughly at tender nipples. "Oh!" Lavellan hissed, squirming uselessly against the man's grasp, looking for more. "Some kind of...tourney-winning chevalier, with lots of money and breeding."

"Kadan, under all his class and posturing he wants the same simple shit as savages like us." Iron Bull growled against the smooth skin of Lavellan's chest, a hand finally sliding down Lavellan's spine to dip his fingers into the crease of his ass, rough fingertips pressing against a still cum-slick pucker.

"What's that?" Lavellan asked, though it sounded much more like a simpering plea as he tried to press back against that fingertip, unable to do so as he was still arched to Bull's mouth.

"He wants to know that for at least one person, he's good enough just the way he is." The words were whispered like a prayer into Lavellan's skin, and despite the growing need rising within him, Lavellan paused his squirming to digest the powerful statement.

"He wants what we have." Lavellan said softly as he lifted his hands to wrap around Iron Bull’s horns before any further speech was taken from him as Iron Bull pushed his finger in to the second knuckle. He cried out into Bull's mouth as his lips were captured in a kiss.

"Yeah, he wants this. He wants more than sex and he wants to be special to someone, and he has no fucking idea it's even okay to ask because Tevinter has convinced him it's not an option." Each sentence was punctuated with a long, slow press of two fingers dragging and twisting inside Lavellan to rub against his prostate and destroy his concentration utterly.

"H-he wants...family?" The word was special for Lavellan, as foreign as it was to Iron Bull. They'd both been raised by their cultures and not by their parents, been alone when that culture was taken away. Together they were figuring out what family meant to them, provided that for each other. The soft way Lavellan shaped the word spoke volumes as to how much the elf treasured it.

"Yeah, he wants to be part of a real family." Iron Bull grunted as he pulled his fingers away, finally shifting his grip on Lavellan to spread him properly over his lap, spreading his cheeks and eagerly reaching beneath them to line up the thick head of his cock to Lavellan's entrance. Lavellan relaxed pliant against him, letting out breathy little sounds of encouragement when Iron Bull began to press into him. " _Shit._ " Iron Bull finally swore, his ability to maintain conversation finally breaking. "You feel so damn good, Kadan."

After that their words disintegrated into filthy things, encouragements and pleas accented with the sounds of sex. Lavellan's cries grew louder as Iron Bull pushed into him harder, leaving finger shaped bruises in soft hips as he set a merciless pace to bring them both to a swift and messy end.

Lavellan practically melted against him afterwards while he reached a hand back to feel the slick mess trickling down his balls and thighs. Iron Bull gave him a heated look as Lavellan licked his swollen lips and let out a content little sigh. "You made a mess." Lavellan accused without any heat at all.

"You like it." Iron Bull grinned in reply.

Lavellan hummed his agreement, resting himself happily on Iron Bull's shoulder as they both caught their breath

"We could show him, you know." He began after a thoughtful silence. When Iron Bull simply pet Lavellan's hair where it lay across his chest, the elf continued. "What it's like to have a family that cares about him."

"We could." Iron Bull hummed in agreement, smiling contentedly at the elf across him. "You adore him."

"So do you." Lavellan countered, his voice lazy and satisfied. "You've thought about him a lot, to have him figured out already."

"Under all that bluster, he's a sweet guy. He's gentle, and he cares about you. I trust him with you." Lavellan smiled like it was already decided which made Iron Bull chuckle. "You have a big heart, Kadan." Lavellan looked warm and content as he pressed his lips to Iron Bull's chest, soft as sin. "He has to want our help though, Kadan. He has to make that choice for himself. He might not want to share, he might not want to take a risk. You gotta let him make that decision for himself."

Iron Bull's words were well timed, the elf's expression growing serious as he considered what they were suggesting. "He might want to just stay friends afterwards."

"He has to know that whatever he chooses you'll still be his best friend, and _you_ have to be sure that you're capable of that. There's no half way, you give him as much as you give me, knowing he might walk away, or you only give him friendship so that no one gets hurt."

Lavellan considered this as Iron Bull's fingers skimmed down his side to dip into the slick mess between Lavellan's cheeks, letting out a shaky breath as callouses ran across oversensitive skin raw from fucking. "It's worth it, to take that chance. Even if we only help him a little." Lavellan said with a soft whimper as Bull's finger pressed at the tightening muscle of his hole, coaxing more seed to leak out. "We have each other, I don't mind sharing."

Iron Bull smiled, finally pulling his hand away to stop teasing the exhausted elf. "I'm so proud of you." He praised, nothing but warmth and affection in his voice. "You're such a good boy." He brought his slick hand to Lavellan's mouth, smirking when his swollen lips parted immediately for a hot little tongue to dart across fingers to clean them thoroughly.

"Do you have a plan then?" Lavellan asked demurely while he teased the pads of Iron Bull's fingers with his teeth before sinking them into his mouth, suckling them with all the devotion he would expend on Iron Bull's cock.

"First step is to get him interested. _Really_ interested." When Lavellan moaned around his fingers, slurping on them lewdly as Iron Bull pressed them into the back of his tongue, the qunari couldn't help but chuckle. "I think your biggest problem will be restraining your enthusiasm."

It would be a balancing act. To push hard enough that there could be no doubt of his intent, but not to pressure the 'vint into thinking their friendship hinged on him accepting. To tempt the man, but still leave the choice firmly in his hands.

By morning they had a plan, carefully laid out with each step accounted for. As Lavellan prepared to leave he was practically humming with energy, a positively wicked grin on his lips.  Iron Bull gave his ass a hard squeeze when Lavellan stood up on his tip toes for a kiss goodbye, the qunari watching the elf's back as he took the stairs two at a time.

Whatever Dorian was expecting the new day to bring, Iron Bull was positive it was not the tempest that was headed his way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeaaaah, Dorian reallllly isn't going to know what hit him. ♥ THE FUN BEGINS.


	4. Kiss Me Senseless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian's about to learn what it's like to be Lavellan's lover, no matter how fake the title may be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo this chapter was difficult for me, (writing kissing and making out and feelings and fluff is harder than it seems!) but hopefully it's not too disappointing! Thank you to everyone who's encouraged me along the way, and to all of my lovely readers and followers who give such amazing feedback, it's so inspiring and thank you so much. ♥

It was a miserable day on the storm coast when Dorian realized that he _enjoyed_ following the Herald of Andraste. He was drenched to the bone, fighting darkspawn crawling out of tunnels, beating back spiders and trying hard not to slip on the wet rocks and plunge into the sea. Overhead the sky rumbled with thunder and the promise of worse weather yet and as the group headed towards blessed shelter Lavellan stopped when something caught his eye. Scrambling under a rock ledge he’d fished out what appeared to be notes, using the shelter of the ledge to examine them eagerly.

As they stood there, dripping and miserable, the elf had gotten excited. Spinning around he faced his companions and jabbed a finger at the notes with enthusiasm. “These were written by a dalish grey warden! She met a human in a settlement here, they became lovers!”

A scathing remark to complain about stopping to read illicit love notes while they were dodging darkspawn in the pouring rain died on the tip of Dorian's tongue when he realized there was no heat behind it. Instead he was happy, satisfied that they had helped the Inquisitor find something he could get excited over.

He’d follow this ridiculous elf anywhere, and probably thank him for the privilege when he was done.

So his criticizing complaint was replaced with a smile. Iron Bull made a terrible joke about bridging cultural gaps and swatted Lavellan's ass in passing. Cole took the notes from Lavellan to try and glean some emotional residue from them, and Dorian...Dorian assumed himself coming down with a terrible illness, to feel so warm inside when he was soaked and frozen on this god forsaken chunk of rock.

The next few months found Dorian watching the Inquisitor closer than before. The way he went out of his way to help those around him, to pick at little carvings and notes to learn more of the world he was changing. Even the way he dashed about Skyhold, always taking time to talk with his companions and help them in whatever way he could.  

He'd found himself treasuring the friendship they formed, caring deeply about what the Inquisitor-- Lavellan, thought of him. Which is why he spent most of the night in their research wing preparing careful letters for those in Wycome detailing their progress. It was why he fretted while his thoughts tangled into themselves as he repeated the events of the tavern in his mind again and again. He cursed himself repeatedly for opening his mouth and destroying the first relationship in the south he really cared for.

It was in that state Lavellan’s arrival found Dorian. The slender man hummed a tune to himself while struggling to peel an orange as he hip checked the door to let himself in.

Dorian jumped to his feet to stand beside the table covered in notes and a barely touched breakfast. He didn’t know what he expected, but the cheerful smile Lavellan looked at him with wasn't it.

"Is there some kind of secret to these awful things? What's the point of being delicious if the skin is an impenetrable barrier of bitterness?" Lavellan complained as dull little fingernails dug into the peel, unable to pierce it.

Dorian froze in place as Lavellan walked up to him, staring at him blankly until the elf looked up at him expectantly, holding the orange out to him. Hiding his surprise at the elf’s demeanor he plucked the fruit from Lavellan's palm, clucking his tongue as he chuckled.

"If you didn’t cut your nails into blunt stubs they would be of some use for these things." He chided while digging a darkly painted fingernail into the peel of the fruit, the manicured tip sharply tearing into it. "The stronger the peel the sweeter the fruit, you know. Did you have these imported?"

"From Tevinter, actually. Leave it to the 'vints to grow a fruit that doesn't want to be eaten. The kitchens were all excited about their arrival. I bit into one and it was _terrible_ , I haven’t the first clue--” Lavellan stopped his grousing when Dorian pulled apart the orange, peeled in record time, to release the smell of citrus in the area. It made the elf pause and lick his lips hungrily. "Oh." He said with a soft little sigh.

Dorian laughed as he pulled the now tender sections of orange apart, pinching one lightly between his fingers for Lavellan. To his surprise the elf leaned up on his toes to use his mouth to take it from Dorian's hand, the elf letting out a sound that was downright _obscene_ when he began to chew.

"Good?" Dorian managed the word into a question as he stared, still unable to correlate the friendly creature in front of him with what he’d been expecting. Lavellan nodded enthusiastically, prompting Dorian to hold out another piece, this time schooling his reaction perfectly when the elf ate from his hand again. "You know it’s supposed to be peeled _grapes_ eaten from the fingers of your adoring followers." He said with a haughty grin.

Lavellan paused to lick the juices from his lips, not missing how Dorian’s eyes followed the dart of pink tongue. "We're known for challenging the status quo, are we not?" He quipped with a raised brow, the total ease of their interactions making everything comfortable. Had Lavellan forgotten? Forgiven him already?

"About last night..." Dorian began, because he needed to address it one way or another. He had to make sure Lavellan understood how terribly Dorian had felt. "I wanted to apologize--"

"It's fine, Dorian." Lavellan said with a smile, shaking his head as he cut off the man's apology mid sentence. “Let’s just assume I misunderstood you terribly. Exhaustion and alcohol were probably to blame.”

Dorian’s blinked for a couple long moments, at a complete loss. This had not been one of the many possible outcomes he’d prepared for. “Oh.” He finally said, forcing a charming smile and a little dip of his head in thanks. “Well, I suppose that works too. Certainly saves me having to beg forgiveness, doesn’t it?” He offered another piece of orange which Lavellan accepted, the elf taking a moment to lick a drop of juice from Dorian’s fingertips. The ‘vint managed to look indifferent, like he hadn’t noticed. “What a shame,” He continued because talking was easier than digesting Lavellan’s clemency. “I spent most of last night practicing my grovelling. Was always rubbish at it.”

“You certainly don’t look like you got much sleep.” Lavellan said with a soft expression, watching Dorian’s face attentively. For the first time he was inspecting Dorian’s mask for cracks, little pin holes that he’d never noticed before. Of course the Iron Bull had, but he’d told Lavellan where to look and now he could see them too. For instance if he tilted his head back and swallowed Dorian’s eyes followed to his exposed throat and the bobbing of his adam’s apple. Or when he parted his mouth slightly to wet his lips with his tongue, Dorian’s gaze stayed transfixed. The tone of his voice never changing or the expression of his face, but his eyes gave away just how intensely Dorian was watching him.

He’d always been so dazzled by the charming mask that he’d missed the interest hiding behind it all this time. The discovery that Iron Bull was right made Lavellan giddy with excitement.

So he stood just this side of too close to Dorian, invading personal space as he examined the man’s face with obvious scrutiny. “Do you have a headache?  Did you take anything for it?”

Dorian waved his hand dismissively. “Of course, I’ve never met a hangover I couldn’t handle.”

Lavellan grinned at Dorian as he let out a little laugh of amusement. “The ancient Tevinter cure of ‘drink more wine’ doesn’t count, you know.”

“Yes, you fiend. I’m fine.” Dorian chuckled as he let Lavellan pluck the remaining half of the orange from his hand without protest. “I was just...concerned.” His voice took on a more serious tone that caught Lavellan’s attention as he pulled pieces of the orange apart, enjoying the smell of citrus as much as the taste. “I had great expectations that you’ve so rudely ignored. You were supposed to come in yelling, I was to fall to my knees and plead for a second chance. It was all going to be very dramatic, you see.”

He was making light of his worry, but there was such tension across Dorian’s shoulders that Lavellan understood just how stressed he’d been. Instead of speaking right away Lavellan selected an orange wedge and raised it to Dorian’s lips, enjoying the way the man’s brow scrunched as he opened his mouth to accept it. While Dorian chewed Lavellan set the remainder of the orange on the tabletop and caught Dorian’s hand in his own.

"You're the best friend I have." Lavellan said with soft voice, painfully honest with an open expression. "I shouldn't have jumped to take offense, I know you're not guilty of the prejudice I accused you of." When Lavellan gave Dorian an imploring look the 'vint gave his hand a comforting squeeze, but before he could interrupt Lavellan continued. "I don't want you to think you have to tiptoe around me, have to worry about offending me. We're beyond that shit, we can be honest with each other."

Dorian swallowed and Lavellan could _see_ the mask straining, pulling at the edges and threatening to break apart. Friendship was something both of them had been starved of throughout their lives, navigating the importance of it wasn't a painless subject. The man looked so openly _touched_ that Lavellan couldn't help but break into a tender smile, Dorian mirroring it shortly after.

"You know," Dorian began, closing his eyes for a moment to dispel some of the emotion threatening to overwhelm him, falling back to playful teasing. "You may regret those words when I'm honest about your fashion choices."

Lavellan laughed, releasing Dorian's hand to swat his arm with a grin. "I'll have you know black and yellow are perfectly acceptable uniform colors, you wicked 'vint."

"Black and _gold_ , perhaps. But plaidweave? Really?"

Lavellan had already tried and failed to defend the choice before, ‘ _It’s pretty!_ ’ an argument that had fallen on deaf ears. Instead he just laughed and tilted his head back to let loose hair spill over his shoulder, watching Dorian watch him. He could practically feel the heat from Dorian’s eyes as it danced across his skin.

On the far side of the wing the sound of a door opening and closing echoed throughout the empty halls. The only other person allowed to pass the guards at the door would be Lavellan’s Keeper. It was an opportunity to test the waters and Lavellan decided to take it. Iron Bull had told him what to watch for, how to tug at Dorian’s resistance without tearing.

Lavellan closed the distance between them and pressed his body tight to Dorian’s as he tilted his head back to watch Dorian’s expression. Dorian’s hands settled tightly on Lavellan’s hips, perhaps intending to push him away though the did no such thing. Instead Dorian looked at him like he had grown three heads as Lavellan offered a wide, sultry smile.

“Lavellan?” Dorian asked, clearly confused with the sudden shift.

Lavellan reached up to hook his fingers in the front of Dorian’s robes, tugging at the leather straps there with an amused little smile. “I would _really_ like my Keeper to catch us in the middle of something…intimate.” He kept his voice a low whisper to enjoy the way Dorian dipped his head to hear him which closed the distance between them further. It was a good sign Dorian wasn’t really uncomfortable with him so close. “If you’re capable of such a thing?”

The tease was breathed out as Lavellan leaned up on his toes, smiling when Dorian’s eyes darted to the door only for a moment before his entire attention settled on Lavellan. “If I'm _capable_.” He mimicked with a scoff, his gaze transfixed as Lavellan parted his lips and let out a happy sound. “The things you say.” He let Lavellan raise his hands to tug on his outer collar and pull his head down, squeezed the elf’s hips a little tighter as they fit their bodies together. Dorian gave Lavellan one last searching hook before he stopped hesitating, closing the distance between their mouths as he pressed his lips to Lavellan’s.

They were both holding their breath when soft lips met, a soft inhale as they kissed, warm air shared between their mouths. It was entirely different than Lavellan was used to, light and cautious as Dorian wavered. He longed to wrap his arms around Dorian’s neck, pull the ‘vint down and _devour_ the man’s mouth. He smelt orange on Dorian’s breath and he wanted to chase the flavour with his tongue, wanted to show Dorian how good it could be.

_“Don’t push him at first, let him choose what he does, let him set the pace. You go in too aggressive and you’ll scare him off. Work within the limits he sets.”_ _Lavellan had given Iron Bull a suggestive grin and the qunari seriously wondered if Lavellan was capable of following his instructions._

He was. One of Dorian’s hands lifted to cup Lavellan’s cheek, running the pad of his thumb across a delicate cheekbone. Dorian was still cautious, clearly holding back, but Lavellan was fascinated by the way he felt wrapped up by a body that did not fully engulf him, the softness of lips that were not rough and scarred.

The tickle of Dorian’s mustache gained all Lavellan’s attention as the man pressed closer, spurred on that Lavellan had not balked or shied away. Lavellan let out a breathy little sound and smiled wide against Dorian’s mouth, tilting his head so he could nuzzle his nose and lips against the tickle of perfectly clipped facial hair.

“Lavellan…” Dorian murmured with a breathy chuckle, perhaps intending chastisement though it came out far too heated for that. Lavellan responded with a pleased hum as he finally lifted his hands to curl them around the back of Dorian’s neck, up on his tip toes now to access the mage fully.

His lips parted against Dorian’s and he smiled when he felt a sharp inhale, drawing the tip of his tongue across Dorian’s lip just to test, to taste. It was nothing more than an invitation, he didn’t push, just offered, but that was all it needed to finally break through Dorian’s reservations.

The hand at the side of his face slid up into his hair, seizing a generous handful and using it to pull Lavellan’s head back further. Dorian’s other hand gripped the elf’s hip, pulling him against the ‘vint’s larger body with an obvious hunger for friction.

The whimper that left Lavellan’s mouth was downright pathetic but Dorian didn’t seem to mind. He tested his tongue to his partners, leaving wet little presses all over Lavellan’s lips until the elf opened his mouth and they pressed their tongues together inside of it. The heat between them rose rapidly, Dorian groaned into Lavellan’s mouth as he explored, both of them tasting orange and spices.

When Lavellan arched into the firm hand sliding down his back he found himself being crowded, Dorian shoving him as the kiss deepened. His back hit the rough stone of the wall behind him and he let out a gasp, finally pulling away from the kiss to pant for breath.

Dorian's mouth turned to the side to attack Lavellan's ear, testing the lobe with his teeth, drawing the tip of his tongue across the delicate line of the shell making Lavellan shiver and moan. Dorian leaned into him, pressing his thigh between Lavellan’s legs to great effect, the elf rocking his hips against it and groaning at the delicious friction of the movement. When he lifted one of his legs to slide it up Dorian’s side he was rewarded when the other mage grabbed under his knee, hiking Lavellan up his body easily.

With little effort Lavellan's other foot left the ground and he was left with his legs wrapped tightly around Dorian's waist, neither man thinking too clearly as they lost themselves to the heat of the moment. Dorian's mouth had discovered just how sensitive Lavellan's neck was, how loud the elf could get when flat teeth sunk into the pale flesh.

Neither of them were thinking of Lavellan's Keeper sorting through the mail in the entry of the wing, too focused on grinding against each other and earning as many heady noises as they could. Lavellan's hands tried and failed to find a way to get beneath Dorian's clothing, the buckles, belts and straps far too complicated for him to process. Instead he focused on suckling Dorian’ neck, smooth dark skin that smelt like spices and soaps and tasted like sin.

The more sounds Lavellan made the bolder Dorian became. As he lost his reservations Lavellan discovered how _skilled_ the man was with that mouth of his, Lavellan craving it in hundreds of places and barely able to remind himself that he wasn't supposed to be pushing Dorian too hard. When Dorian's hands dug into his ass, using that grip to control the slow grind of their groins, Lavellan's fingers tightened in Dorian's hair while he keened. The 'vints name became a mantra that spilled from Lavellan's lips as he squirmed under the attention, Dorian’s hot mouth attacking his neck suckling and leaving marks and bites behind to drive Lavellan to utter distraction. All the while the tickle of Dorian's mustache across over-sensitive skin made Lavellan squirm and whimper, the Altus absolutely merciless about exploiting how receptive Lavellan was to it.

"P-please, Dorian." He whimpered, begging already. Iron Bull would never let him live it down if he found out. "Kiss me, please."

They neither heard nor cared about the footsteps in the hallway echoing towards their door. Dorian didn't hesitate for a moment to give Lavellan what he wanted, a soft curse falling from his lips as he released Lavellan's neck to return his attention to his mouth. The easy way Lavellan tilted his head back to give Dorian full access pleased him, if the little groan of excitement that left Dorian's lips was any indication.

They kissed, so focused on devouring each other's mouths that all other constraints were forgotten. Lavellan's hands were making a mess of Dorian’s hair as they dug in to hang on, legs tight to Dorian’s hips as the two of them ground against each other. The Altus’s clothes were askew but in tact, though Lavellan’s jacket had been hiked up to give Dorian access to the smooth skin of his back.

It wasn’t until Istimaethoriel’s books clattered to the ground with a gasp that they noticed the door opening, so caught up in the needy little noises and the sweet taste of each other’s mouth. Dorian was the first to react, pulling his head up out of Lavellan’s reach as he twisted to look at her with surprise. The intention had been to put on a show and intentionally get caught, but Dorian had gotten so caught up in the moment he’d forgotten that.

“Oh! I’m so sorry! I didn’t know anyone was here! I’ll leave you two alone.” Istimaethoriel apologized hastily while scooping up her fallen books.

“It’s quite alright.” Dorian stammered out, still heated and flushed and slightly disoriented. He moved to take a step back and put some space between himself and Lavellan, but the elf was still thoroughly wrapped around his body. Lavellan pressed his face to Dorian’s throat, biting at it gently with a soft sound of happiness.

“You sure about that?” Istimaethoriel teased as she straightened her books, raising a suggestive eyebrow at Dorian. She chuckled as she watched Dorian realize he still had a firm grip on Lavellan’s ass, the flushing Altus releasing the elf and forcing the other man to drop to his feet. When Lavellan made to reach for Dorian’s shoulder the human caught his wrist and stilled it, giving Lavellan a thoroughly heated look.

“I’m sure we can focus on the task at hand and continue this later, isn’t that right?” Dorian managed to sound stern, but the pitiful little noise Lavellan made broke him. Still gripping Lavellan’s wrist he used it to pull the elf close for a moment, dipping to press another kiss to Lavellan’s mouth. It was a liberty he enjoyed the hell out of taking. The heated spark in Dorian’s eyes, the way his hair stuck up randomly from Lavellan’s fingers and the way his mustache curled all out of place made Lavellan all the more eager to forget their work and jump him.

The Altus who always looked so perfectly groomed, so completely dignified at all times was an absolute _mess_ and Lavellan had been the one to make him that way. He’d been given a taste of the most enticing of delicacies and now he wanted to gorge himself on it.

“Do try and control yourself.” Dorian said to both of them, perhaps noticing the predatory gleam in Lavellan’s eye and returning it fully.

The Keeper chuckled as she walked by the two of them to set down the books and mail she’d brought up, testing the temperature of the tea pot on the table. Finding it cool she warmed it with a casual wave of her hand that activated the small fire rune at the bottom of the pot. “Don’t hold back on my account.” She laughed.

She stood back to watch as Lavellan fussed over Dorian, the elf doing his best to help put Dorian back together. He smoothed the man’s mustache and rearranged his hair as Dorian returned the favor, combing his fingers through Lavellan’s hair and adjusting the elf’s clothes to make him presentable. The Altus looked a little guilty as he fidgeted with Lavellan’s collar, a rather obvious mark left just above his collar, unable to be hidden. Lavellan could tell how nervous Dorian was becoming, so with a satisfied smile he leaned close and rubbed a hand across Dorian’s side. “As tempting as it is to give you a show, he’s right as usual. We should get to work.” When he let his hand slide down Dorian’s hip and thigh he turned to hide his grin as he practically felt the vibration up Dorian’s spine.

He was still grinning as he walked past Istimaethoriel to look at the letters she had brought, the other elf shaking her head at him. “You are like a cat that’s been into the cream.” She chastised with a smile on her face.

Lavellan laughed and managed to withstand the urge to tell her ‘You have no idea.’

He’d gotten under Dorian’s shields this time, the Altus hadn’t expected him and had been totally unprepared. No doubt Dorian would not make that mistake again, he’d be determined to remain on his guard, to keep himself reserved and controlled. Unfortunately for the poor ‘vint, Lavellan had seen what something primal looked like on the man. Like a shark lured in with blood in the water he’d been tantalized, all the more motivated to pursue more.

The look he gave Dorian was remarkably predatory as he watched the ‘vint compose himself out of the corner of his eye. Dorian being off balance and confused by the whole display just made him deliciously easy prey.

Turning his attention back to his letters, Lavellan gave a miserable little sigh as he forced himself to focus on the matter before them. Dorian wasn’t going to be the only one distracted -- it was going to be a long few days.

 

Their patient had a problem deciding which carving was her favorite. It certainly helped distract her from the examination -- Lavellan’s prodding hands were practically ignored as he tested her for reactions to their magic, the girl far too busy examining Cole’s gifts closely with Dorian at her side.

She admired the bright colors and the careful details to each one. Then she began to tell Dorian stories of the pets she grew up with, asked excitedly if Cole could make a fennec fox carving too, because she quite liked those. To Lavellan’s surprise Dorian not only entertained her little ramblings but also shared stories of his own. Of a little bird he’d found that had struck a window and dazed itself, how he’d nursed it back to health before watching it fly away. He told her of how many fennec foxes ran around them when they went outside, about the little noises they made as they ran. He thankfully left out the parts where they often got caught in the crossfire when fighting broke out.

When Lavellan was done he stood back and watched as their little patient picked out her favorite book to show Dorian, Istimaethoriel joining him at his side as she finished her work. “He’s quite something, isn’t he? Can you imagine meeting him when we were that age? Might have changed our minds about Tevinter, you know.”

“The number of his countrymen rushing to meet their death at our hands shows just how rare he is amongst his country.” Lavellan said with a sad smile. “Probably for the best we don’t go trusting ‘vints without cause. However...He wants to change things, you know? He wants to make a difference, redeem his homeland.”

“Return to Tevinter?” Istimaethoriel said with a frown, clearly displeased by that news. “Tevinter doesn’t deserve him.”

“I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to know how taken you are by him.” Lavellan teased, though he couldn’t help but agree with his Keepers opinion.

The girl suddenly burst into giggles as she showed Dorian whatever it was she had been searching for, Dorian looking a good manner of amused and embarrassed all at once. “He looks nothing like me!” He protested.

“Does too! Identical! You’re definitely him.”

“He’s a _villain_. A _scoundrel._ ” Dorian argued, which only seemed to make his pint-sized more determined.

“Nuh-uh! He’s good in the end! In book three he helps the King rescue the Princess and then he’s a hero of the whole kingdom!”

Dorian looked up at Lavellan suddenly. “Lavellan, tell this lovely lady that this character looks _nothing_ like me.” He demanded. Grinning Lavellan moved to his side, looking over Dorian’s shoulder at the book spread out in the girl’s lap. Lo’ and behold the illustration it was opened to was opened to was of roguish looking man with a long coat and a rapier in one hand, long black hair pulled back into a half-bun. The defining feature however, the final nail in Dorian’s coffin, was that the man had a mustache almost exactly like Dorian’s, carefully trimmed and curled and so completely _villainous_ that Lavellan could do nothing but laugh.

His Keeper had joined them when Dorian growled at the laughing elf, seeing the picture and immediately giving a soft little chuckle, trying to turn it into a cough and hide her smile with her fist when Dorian glared. “ _Nothing_ like me!” Dorian insisted, and she gave him a humoring smile, patting his shoulder gently.

“Don’t worry, gorgeous. It looks _far_ better on you.”

Lavellan was laughing too hard to breathe properly, which Miss Frost found absolutely hilarious, and soon the two’s infectious laughter had seeped into all four of them.

They stayed with her a while longer, taking the time to play a board game with her that she rather fancied, something silly with rules that seemed to change to suit her, but none of them really minded. It helped cheer her up and when she smiled it hid the fact that her face was gaunt and pinched with sickness. When they left she had fallen asleep, far too exhausted by all the visiting but still with a happy smile on her face. Atop her night-stand were the three little carvings Cole had made, watching over her bed. Dorian assured her that they would join her in her dreams.

Lavellan’s Keeper went on ahead to return their implements to their room. Now they were left to their own devices for a while, only having to check back in on the girl every couple of hours to mark her progress, check to see how she was reacting to their first attempt at a cure.

As Lavellan leaned against the doorframe waiting for Dorian to exit he was surprised when the Altus stopped next to him after closing the door behind them. He paused when he saw the flush of heat across Dorian’s face before the other mage reached out and tugged up on Lavellan’s collar. “Pull this up a bit, will you?”

Lavellan raised a brow as his hand replaced Dorian’s, attempting to adjust the collar to hide what he realized were love bites from Dorian’s attentions to him earlier. Judging by the way Dorian’s brows furrowed as he watched, it wasn’t doing any better a job of hiding the marks.

“ _Fasta vass._ ” Dorian cursed, crossing his arms in a clearly unhappy gesture. “Iron Bull is going to kill me.”

Lavellan tilted his head in a questioning manner, a smirk pulling at his lips as he considered it. “Oh, don’t worry about that. Iron Bull leaves marks all the time. He probably won’t even notice another one.”

Dorian let out huff, clearly not impressed by Lavellan’s attempts to reassure him. “You mean the man who keeps track of where he’s left some kind of bruise behind so he can squeeze them later to make you squirm and whimper?” Lavellan flushed right up to his ears, no doubt Dorian’s intention, as he considered how many times Iron Bull had done that exact thing when Lavellan thought no one watching. “The qunari who enjoys marking his territory will _surely_ not notice another man’s mouth bruised into your neck. _Kaffas._ ”

Flustered as he was Lavellan couldn’t come up with a proper argument. Instead the blushing elf took a quick couple of steps into the ‘vint’s personal space, jutting his chin in challenge.

_Don’t let him focus on my relationship with you -- he’ll latch onto that and deny himself everything if you do. Instead show him you’re offering_ him _the chance at that relationship. Focus on what you’re building together, I’ll deal with the rest later._ Damn good thing Iron Bull had forced him to repeat most of his instructions, it had been enough to drill them into Lavellan’s head so he could recall them when he needed.

“What about _you_ , Dorian?” He countered, grinning when the Altus’ attention snapped onto him, Dorian raising an elegant brow as he listened. The happy little smile Lavellan shared with him became more intimate as Lavellan pressed against him as he tipped his head back enough that his hair fell down his back, away from his neck exposing the marks all the more. “Do _you_ enjoy marking your territory? Leaving bruises behind?”

Dorian gave Lavellan a half hearted glare before glancing around to see if anyone was watching them. The hallway was completely deserted, however servants and workers did pass through now and then, only one room of the wing kept under quarantine. The chance of being caught was obviously an issue for the ‘vint. “You know your Keeper is nowhere near to catch us.” He pointed out with a question in his tone, as if hoping that reminder would somehow be news to Lavellan.

Instead the elf attempted an innocent smile that fell short of innocent and fell more into downright wicked. He’d have to work on that. “That’s true, but don’t you think that’s something your _lover_ would know?” He shifted closer yet, leaning up on his toes to shorten the distance between them, easily in kissing range now if Dorian would only to dip his head for a moment.

“ _Kaffas_ , what’s gotten into you?” Dorian hissed, his voice low and tense, protesting verbally even as his weight shifted towards Lavellan. His silver eyes darkened as he considered the elf before him with obvious heat to his expression.

Lavellan let out a soft little whimper when he realized that Dorian’s eyes kept falling to his mouth, parting his lips and wetting them with his tongue just so he could watch the mask Dorian wore crack a little further. “Nothing, yet.” He finally managed to speak, his voice teasing and light despite how suggestive he wanted the words to be. Important to keep things from getting too weighted at this stage. “We could work on that, though.”

He snickered when Dorian gave a frustrated groan, the tension between them diffused completely by the familiar humor of their flirting. Lavellan unconsciously leaned forward as he laughed, Dorian dropped a hand to the elf’s hip in the same comfortable way. Perhaps it was to prevent the elf from pressing any closer, the distance between them certainly not platonic if anyone were to catch them now. Instead he ended up squeezing the elf’ hip experimentally, apparently pleased by the way Lavellan felt under his hands if the gentle smile pulling at his lips was any indication.

“There’s plenty easier ways to get me killed, you know.” Dorian managed to sound indifferent, as if it was no more an important topic than the weather or the progress of the crops in Antiva. While he drew upon his composure Lavellan couldn’t help but notice how Dorian’s other hand had fallen to his other hip now, rings grazing against the leather of his belt as the larger mans hands tensed in restraint.

“I’m sure there are.” Lavellan said with a lazy smile, still leaning his head back and watching Dorian with his full attention, fascinated really. “However none of them involve kissing you.”

“And that’s something you want to do, is it?” Dorian sounded surprised, a crack of self consciousness in his usually haughty tone, in the way he kept his expression schooled. In fact, there was an underlying amount of _something_ that Lavellan couldn’t identify, nevermind know how to fix. He’d work on that, too.

“Absolutely. Can you blame me?” He pet Dorian’s ego instead, stoked his confidence to admire how the man flourished under the compliment, how his grin came back full strength, how his posture straightened and he squeezed Lavellan’s hips with assurance in his grip.

“I suppose not.” He said with a final glance around, confirming that they were still alone in the hallway. Once he was certain he scooped one arm around Lavellan’s waist and pulled him close against him while the other hand reached for Lavellan’s collar, pulling it back carefully. In one smooth motion he dipped his mouth to the tender skin exposed, pressing his lips chastely to the mark he’d left on Lavellan’s neck.

The press of warm lips and the tickle of a mustache against sensitive skin made Lavellan shiver. His slender hands settled on Dorian’s shoulders and he leaned his head back, a soft moan escaping that he couldn’t have suppressed if he’d wanted to. Dorian made a gentle hum as he tested the tenderness of the bruise with his lips, the hot wetness of his tongue and the soft noise of Dorian’s attentions so close to Lavellan’s ear left the elf a mess in moments.

“ _Creators._ ” Lavellan whimpered when Dorian pulled away, the elf leaning up to chase after the man’s mouth, completely focused on the way Dorian’s lips glistened and how fucking much he wanted to muss his mustache with a few good kisses. Instead Dorian pressed a ringed finger to Lavellan’s lips, giving the elf a soft smile even as he refused him.

“Not here, too many curious eyes around every corner. I’d rather not be accused of trying to suck out the Inquisitor’s soul.” He teased, though Lavellan could see the resolve there.

He nodded instead, gave Dorian’s finger a gentle little kiss before he stepped back and let cool air flow between them again, some of the heat dispersing when they weren’t pressed against each other. Dorian had limits -- he was happy to give kisses, just not in public. Lavellan could most definitely work within those parameters. He stayed at Dorian’s side as they left the wing, the two of them falling back into comfortable rhythm that it made Lavellan warm inside.

“And for the record, Inquisitor?” Dorian said after a few moments, his voice lowering after he’d gotten Lavellan’s attention. “I prefer to leave marks on much more _intimate_ areas.”

Lavellan laughed, eyes dancing devilishly as he considered the man at his side. “Very good to know.”

 

They had been hoping for a cure. They wanted to see young Miss Frost the next morning and find her completely better, no longer afflicted by the disease in any way. Instead they found marked progression. They found improvement -- her blood seemed to carry enough nutrients that food had a positive effect on her, her breathing was less shallow, her color improved substantially. However she was still weak, her blood was still affected by the disease, the veins visible under her skin far too dark to be healthy. She wasn’t cured.

They gave her another treatment and returned to their research area, the three of them pacing as they considered this new development. The cure they had produced would work, it would simply need multiple treatments. However just the two doses they had created had taken a couple of days to grow under Istimaethoriel’s care. It required treated blood samples and a not insubstantial amount of mana to produce, not to mention a spirit healer.

They had been hard pressed to come up with a way to produce enough of the cure to treat everyone in Wycome already, the fact that each of them would need two, maybe three treatments depending on how long they’d been infected left them arguing amongst themselves.

“We could strengthen the magic we’re using with a foci of some kind. Less magic would be required, it would make it easier to produce.” Lavellan spoke while he leaned over the table, glaring at the numbers in front of him. The number of spirit healers they had access to and the amount that were able to go to Wycome when instructed. The number of doses they suspected they would need, minimum. The number of days they had to do all of this before people began to die in droves.

Istimaethoriel was already beginning to prepare several more doses as they discussed what to do next, the pile of empty lyrium bottles growing larger as the day wore on. It would only be enough to give to those most gravely ill in Wycome, the ones who would not live to the end of the week. However it was taking a toll on her, Lavellan’s Keeper was growing more exhausted by the minute, pushing herself too hard.

Dorian sat in a chair next to Lavellan, feet crossed casually at his ankles while he poured over several reports in one hand, a glass of wine in the other. There were several books stacked on the wide armrest of the chair however he’d stopped flipping through those when he hadn’t found what he wanted.

“If we strengthen the magic we risk the formula itself. It must stay within parameters or else the final product will do us no good. Worse case scenario it actually does _harm._ ”

“Or, it works out, and we’re better off for trying. It doesn’t hurt to look over the formula again and see if there’s a way to tweak--”

“Your poor Keeper is barely keeping her feet as it is, and you want to waste her power on more experiments when she could be producing the actual cure?”

“I want to find a way to solve our problem.” Lavellan said with a raised eyebrow, turning away from the papers that were screaming at him to give Dorian his full attention. “Perhaps you could help, instead of simply poking holes in my solutions.” He crossed his arms across his chest and did his best to look annoyed. That failed when Dorian looked up at him with an arched brow and an amused look, Lavellan couldn’t help but mirror the smirk he was given.

“Your solutions are leaking quite well enough on their own, my dear. Why don’t we come up with _good_ ones.” Despite the snark that was passing between them, Dorian seemed to notice how tired Lavellan was, how much the need to come up with a plan was weighing on him. Without changing the subject or breaking a stride, Dorian set his wine down on the table and extended an arm to Lavellan in invitation. Without question the elf settled himself onto Dorian’s lap and smiled when an arm wound around his waist to hold him comfortably. Dorian studied him from his new, closer vantage point. “Fortunately, I’ve already told you a _good_ solution.”

Lavellan made a face even as he reached out to straighten Dorian’s collar, not that it was out of place, but he enjoyed the chance to brush fingertips across Dorian’s clavicle, watching for the tiniest signs of response. “I don’t think Dagna’s very experimental foci counts as a _good_ solution, no matter how charming you may look when you insist it so.”

“It doesn’t _strengthen_ magic, it _multiplies_ it. Stronger magic damages the cure, _multiplying_ the cure is exactly what we need. It’s brilliant and it would work splendidly.”

“Or explode and destroy Undercroft. You’re forgetting that possibility.”

“We’d tweak it of course, I’m sure we could lower the risk to m-manageable levels.” Lavellan grinned when the Altus’ stuttered, his expression positively wicked. Settled as he was in the man’s lap he only had to squirm and arch _just_ right to grind against the Altus in the most satisfying of ways.

Dorian of course could not protest this with Lavellan’s Keeper only a few steps away. She wasn’t as focused on her work anymore, finally done pouring out magic and instead insuring that all the vials were properly sealed and marked. She glanced up regularly to grin at the two as they bickered, keeping her comments to herself.

“I don’t see how re-examining our formula is considered ‘wasting time’, while tweaking an experimental foci that could very well do nothing for us is perfectly acceptable?” Lavellan asked with a mock offended tone as he squirmed again, watching the heat rise up Dorian’s neck. The man didn’t blush per say, nothing like the bright red that covered Lavellan’s face right up to his ears. He did however get significantly rosier under all that caramel skin, easier to miss but so damn attractive.

The way he enunciated his words, licked his lips and kept his mouth slightly parted could also have something to do with Dorian’s fraying focus. To the man’s credit, he was exceptionally good at keeping it together under such brutal working conditions. “If we’re capable of _multiplying_ the cure, that means we don’t have to exhaust spirit healers, the foci could do the work for them. It cuts the work, but it also means that we can keep a few doses on hand and be able to mass produce the cure again should something like this pop up in the future. It would do wonders for advancing the medical field.”

All damn good points, but the man looked far too smug as he preened underneath Lavellan. Dorian’s hands had moved as he spoke, dipping low on his hips until warm fingertips were teasing under the ornate fabric of Lavellan’s shirt. The rotten ‘vint knew how responsive Lavellan was to skin-on-skin contact and he was using that knowledge for evil. Lavellan forced himself to focus on his argument even when Dorian let explorative fingers tuck under Lavellan’s belt to trace the curve of Lavellan’s hipbone, managing to still Lavellan’s suggestive squirming.

“You talk a good game, ‘vint. But the clock’s ticking and we need to focus on the short term. We have access to Lyrium, if we bring in more spirit healers we can both test changes to the formula and produce useable dosages for Wycome at the same time. There _has_ to be a way to strengthen the final product so that a single dose would be all a patient needs.”

Lavellan shifted in Dorian’s lap as he spoke, moving to straddle Dorian’s thighs so he could lean ever closer, nose to nose. It was vastly more intimate, especially when Dorian’s hands settled on the swell of Lavellan’s thighs and Lavellan rested his on Dorian’s shoulders. The space between their bodies was barely respectable, Dorian was becoming infinitely more comfortable with displays of affection in front of Lavellan’s Keeper. They were still very focused on arguing with each other -- it was just becoming a progressively more pleasurable experience for them both.

“The amount of time needed is the same, it’s better spent focusing on a long term solution.” Dorian pointed out with a haughty tone, as if Lavellan’s gaze wasn’t currently focused on his mouth with an expression lustful enough to make a chantry mother swoon.

“Not to interrupt,” Istimaethoriel chipped in as she walked away from the table covered in glowing vials to join them at theirs, watching the two of them with open appreciation. “Because really, I’d hate to stop such a show.” Dorian grinned devilishly and quirked a brow at Lavellan, the elf in his lap flushing nicely under the praise. “We have three spirit-healers expected to arrive in Skyhold by morning. With their help, and the Inquisition’s lyrium supply, we will be able to create enough doses to treat everyone in Wycome at least once and have it in their hands before another need die. It’d buy us a great deal of time -- enough time to come up with a way to fully cure everyone. For whichever of these long term solutions you two can agree on.”

She was absolutely right, of course. Both of them conceded to that immediately.”I’ll make sure there is enough Lyrium provided to see it through.” Lavellan said quietly, looking over his shoulder and giving his torment of Dorian a rest while he reached up to snag a fountain pen and jot down notes for things to do.

“The Commander will no doubt insist on a Templar presence.” Dorian reminded. “Have him send the one he keeps sending to watch us, get her out of our hair.”

“She’s a sweetheart.” Lavellan’s Keeper said with a smile and Dorian huffed out his agreement.

“She has a certain puppy-like quality yes. Horribly manipulative, our dear Commander. He sends her because he knows we’re all too soft-hearted to tell her where to shove her concern.”

“None of the Spirit-Healers coming were rebel mages, they’ll do fine with a Templar watching them. We’ll assign her as their guide, she can see to their care. They’ll need support. Belinda...Darrow? That was her name, right?” Lavellan was scribbling another missive, signing them messily. Part of his messenger's job was deciphering his chicken scratch.

Istimaethoriel poured herself a glass from Dorian’s wine, making a face as she took a sip. “This tastes terrible.”

“It’s the lyrium.” Dorian chuckled, motioning for her to drink more. “Once it stops burning your tongue you’ll be able to taste things properly again.”

“Awful stuff.” She sighed, swishing the wine around in her mouth nonetheless. “Takes you from exhausted to hyper so fast my body can’t keep up, when I finally crash I’m going to sleep like the dead.”

“You get used to it, eventually. With your low tolerance for it you’ll probably collapse some time tomorrow afternoon.” Dorian offered the information freely while he sipped from his own wine glass, eyes on Lavellan as the elf sealed the messages Lavellan managed to burn himself on the wax for a change which deprived Dorian of his chance to make a snarky remark.

“Dagna’s Foci won’t work.” Lavellan said as soon as he pushed the finished messages out of the way, acting as if their argument hadn’t taken the companionable pause it had. Istimaethoriel laughed into her wine as Dorian gave a dramatic sigh.

“You realize you have to explain your thought process if you’re going to make wild declarations such as those.” Dorian drawled as he arched a shaped brow over his wine glass. Lavellan’s eyes flashed with the challenge. Istimaethoriel was grinning ear to ear as she watched the two of them puff up and posture.

“Her foci can multiply _magic_ , experimentally. But our cure isn’t magic. It couldn’t be, or else the disease would attack it like it does any other kind of magic. It’s a living thing of it’s own. Which means we couldn’t multiply the final product, we could only multiply the magic that is used to make the final product. I’m not sure a Spirit-Healer would be able to focus multiple procs of the same spell.”

“That’s why we _tweak_ it. I already asked Dagna if she thought it was possible and she gave positive feedback. If w-we…” Dorian glared when Lavellan leaned forward close enough to squirm enough to not so subtly grind against Dorian, completely ruining the other man’s train of thought. Istimaethoriel snickered despite her best efforts to hide it. “ _If we focus_ ,” Dorian emphasized as he set down his wine to wrap a tight grip around Lavellan’s hips to still him, “On altering the foci to suit our needs, we’ll have created something extraordinary.”

“You’re going off of Dagna’s _theories_ , though. She theorized she could make a rune that enchanted weapons to sing the chant.” Lavellan said dryly. His attempts to squirm his way into winning the argument had failed, so he instead focused on sliding his hands across Dorian’s bare arms, tickling the fine, dark hair dusted across forearms with the lightest plucks of his fingers. It was amusing to feel goosebumps rise up under his fingers as he did so.

“Don’t discredit her real work with her hobby work, you fiend.” Dorian hissed, realizing he was at a disadvantage because he had to use both hands to keep Lavellan from squirming, unable to defend himself from tickling fingertips. The look he gave Lavellan threatened a lot worse than tickling, which was Istimaethoriel’s cue.

“I think I’m going to pass these off to the messengers.” She said as she picked up the sealed notes and waved them lightly in order to draw the other mage’s attention away from each other momentarily. “Maybe grab a bite to eat and try to sleep off the Lyrium-high if I can. You two obviously need some privacy to uh...debate your theories.”

“Yes.” Dorian said giving Lavellan a pointed look.

Lavellan returned it by grinning innocently as he tossed a look over his shoulder to his Keeper. “I had some books delivered to your room, if you can’t sleep hopefully they’ll be of interest.”

“Thank you, my little Wildfire.” She said, smiling as she stooped in front of him to press a kiss to his forehead. “Don’t fight _too_ dirty. We can’t let word get back to Tevinter about how cunning the Dalish are.”

“Too late for that, I’m afraid. I can’t wait to see the Magisterium copying your debate tactics in the upper floors. There will be a sudden boom in new births nine months from now I’m sure.”

Istimaethoriel laughed as she headed out the door, Dorian belatedly realizing that she had snagged the wine bottle as well, no doubt using the distraction of kissing Lavellan’s forehead to swipe it.

Once she had left they only spent a short moment making sure she didn’t return before their attention settled back on each other. “I think we should focus on making the cure last longer. If it can remain in the blood longer it can remain within parameters but still cure a person in one dosage.” Lavellan pressed his chest to Dorian’s as he spoke, putting his arms casually around Dorian’s shoulders before he pointedly pressed a soft little kiss to the man’s jaw, feeling positively _bold._

Dorian let out a mixture between a tevene curse and a laugh as he used his grip on Lavellan’s waist to pin him still against Dorian’s front. “You think that if you are tempting enough I’ll agree with you?” Dorian asked incredulously, finally able to show his exasperation and confusion at the actions of the wicked elf in his lap.

Lavellan was completely unphased by the accusation. Instead he tilted his head to the side to let dark hair spill over his shoulder, biting at his lower lip in what could be considered a shy manner if you didn’t know how devious he was. Dorian did. That didn’t stop him from staring. “You think I’m tempting, Master Pavus?” Lavellan practically purred against Dorian’s jaw as he arched and squirmed the best Dorian’s grip on him allowed. “You know, there’s no one around now if you want to properly _persuade_ me.”

“ _Fasta vass._ ” Dorian whispered as he froze beneath Lavellan momentarily. The elf could see he cracks in the man’s demeanor, could see him calculating wildly as he restrained himself, barely. He half expected to be knocked out of Dorian’s lap and pushed away, but finally Dorian seemed to settle on a course of action, leaning down to put them nose to nose. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?” He asked in a low voice as he lifted a hand to wrap it firmly around the back of Lavellan’s neck. When he squeezed experimentally Lavellan let out a contented hiss. “You’re just going to keep pawing at me until I give in to your lascivious desires?”

The pressure on the back of his neck was making Lavellan’s breath come significantly faster, his lips parted as he tried very hard not to moan. Alarm bells were going off and he had to _focus_. He could not let his dick make decisions, treacherous as it was. He had to make sure he put Dorian first. “No.” He managed to whimper, and he was given a little easement when Dorian’s grip on the back of his neck slackened in surprise. “You tell me to stop, any time, and I will. No questions, no consequences.” It was one of Iron Bull’s biggest rules, and having it in place felt so absolutely _right_ that Lavellan felt a great deal of warmth from watching the surprise dawn across Dorian’s face.

He had to make sure the Altus knew he didn’t _have_ to do this. Had to make sure that it was _want_ that drove him. He gave the man an open, earnest expression as Dorian considered this development.

Instead of telling Lavellan to stop, commenting on the rule or questioning Lavellan’s honesty, Dorian sidestepped it entirely. His other hand lifted to Lavellan’s face where he drew manicured fingernails across Lavellan’s temple into his hairline, tugging lightly on long hair as he did so. It was Dorian’s way of saying _No, I don’t want to stop._ It was clear enough Lavellan didn’t push it further.

“Just how much controversy do you want to cause?” Dorian asked seriously as he teased his thumb on the side of Lavellan’s neck as he pushed more of Lavellan’s hair back behind his shoulder, exposing his neck and shoulders fully. “The Inquisitor is already a Dalish savage sleeping with a former Ben-Hassrath spy twice his size. That’s not enough? Want to add salacious activities with a member of Tevinter Nobility to the list to _ensure_ that Josephine ends up murdering you in your sleep?”

Dorian kept his voice light and pleasantly conversational, but Lavellan could see how much it was weighing on him. Lavellan didn’t know how to explain that he wasn’t pursuing Dorian as some kind of twisted political scheme, he didn’t know the words to settle Dorian’s mind and assure him that what they were doing was _safe._ Iron Bull’s plan was to keep meeting Dorian’s concern with absolute certainty, to assure Dorian with signs of affection that could not be misunderstood. The rest would fall into place later, there would be time to show this gorgeous man that it was okay to be foolish and daring.

“I think they’re all still rather hung up on the whole ‘dalish elf sent to punish shems for the mistreatment of the People.’” He pressed a slender hand to the side of Dorian’s face, cupping it gently as he ran his thumb across Dorian’s soft lower lip. It was clearly inviting without actually pushing. He didn’t move any closer, left the distance there for Dorian to close, Lavellan making sure he wasn’t the one making the first move, that he wasn’t taking the choice away from Dorian. “Anyone who would speak ill or harm anyone in my inner circle answers to _me._ ” He whispered fiercely, suddenly grinning at Dorian. “Remember when we first worked together in Redcliffe, in that awful future? “I’ll protect you.”” He mimicked Dorian’s tone the best he could, drawing a low laugh out of the man who loved impersonations.

Dorian warmed to him at this, the way his expression softened and some of the defensiveness fell away from his posture revealing how touched he was. He pressed his cheek into Lavellan’s hand and let his eyes flutter shut for a moment, tensions draining away as he shifted his grip on Lavellan thoughtfully.

This time the hand on the back of Lavellan’s neck was used to tug him forward, claiming Lavellan’s lips in a kiss as Lavellan melted into him. There was none of the teasing or hesitant tasting from before. This time Dorian was giving Lavellan what exactly what he wanted, perhaps thinking that the elf would let up once he thought he’d won.

He made Lavellan moan as he took control of the kiss, swirling his tongue expertly into Lavellan’s parted mouth leaving the elf a breathless mess as he tried to keep up. Dorian was a _fantastic_ kisser when he wanted to be, his tongue agile and skilled enough to destroy Lavellan’s focus while the elf whimpered helplessly into Dorian’s mouth. When they parted it was only for a few moments to pant for breath, Lavellan nuzzling into the human’s mustache while Dorian teased Lavellan’s lips with his teeth.

Lavellan’s hands found themselves in Dorian’s hair, dragging fingertips through it before gripping it tightly as Dorian’s hands went to his thighs. Apparently the leverage of the position was not enough because Lavellan found himself being lifted out of the chair, his legs immediately tightening around Dorian’s hips as he was swung around and deposited messily on the top of the desk. They knocked over Dorian’s empty wine glass, scattered notes everywhere, but neither of them cared a whit as Dorian covered Lavellan’s body with his own.

When they parted Dorian pulled back enough to look down at Lavellan. His cheeks were flushed and his hair was everywhere and Lavellan grinned at him like he hadn’t seen anything more beautiful in his life. “You like tossing me around?” He asked breathlessly as they fit their bodies together, Dorian guiding Lavellan’s legs to part and bend to lift up along his sides.

“You _are_ very light.” Dorian teased while leaving open-mouthed kisses across Lavellan’s ear and neck.

“I’m portable, for your convenience.” Lavellan whimpered, arching his back so their hips ground together and Lavellan’s chest pressed up against Dorian’s.

“ _Kaffas._ ” Dorian cursed breathlessly, “You’re truly mad.” He laughed then, like maybe Lavellan’s madness was contagious, before they kissed again.

Dorian slid his hands to Lavellan’s thighs as they squeezed at his waist, testing the feel of muscle wrapped in supple leather before he broke away from Lavellan’s mouth and attempted to pull himself away. Lavellan was having no part of it, too eager for more contact to let the man regain his composure in any way. So he tightened the grip of his legs, crossing his ankles above Dorian’s ass and wrapped hands around the back of his neck, keeping them pressed tight together.

Simple little things he could appreciate, like how much strength the grip of his legs had around Dorian’s hips, human bone structure so much slimmer than qunari. Also if he stretched he could reach Dorian’s mouth with no real strain, making it incredibly easy to bite at plush lips with sharp little teeth, enjoying the way Dorian’s breath hitched.

Realizing that he was getting nowhere separating their bodies Dorian growled and shoved both of them back down against the table, pinning Lavellan with his weight as he kissed hungrily under Lavellan’s jaw. “Are you always this pushy?” Dorian chuckled when Lavellan’s hands slipped between them, clawing at the buckles and belts that separated them. He managed to get the biggest buckle detached, letting their groins grind together without hard metal between them, but to Lavellan’s frustration it did absolutely nothing to aid the removal of the rest of Dorian’s clothing. Couldn’t even find a place to fit his hands underneath fabric. He let out a frustrated little noise from the back of his throat and Dorian chuckled deeply into a pointed ear. “Having problems, Inquisitor?”

“If I ever meet the asshole that designed your goddamn clothing--” Lavellan’s snarl was abruptly cut off when warm, skilled hands slid underneath the hem of his shirt and slid up sensitive sides. Moaning he arched helplessly into them, rewarded when Dorian rocked against him as his hands roved across Lavellan’s skin. With buckles no longer catching Lavellan could _feel_ the hard line of Dorian’s cock through his pants, angling it up against his so that their eager humping had the greatest effect.

Unable to get his hands under Dorian’s clothes to return the favor, Lavellan focused on rocking eagerly against the other man, guiding Dorian into a smooth rhythm with the most friction. They panted into each other’s mouths, all teeth and tongue and groaning little whimpers. When they weren’t kissing Lavellan was burying his face into Dorian’s neck, kissing and sucking dark skin that smelled like spicy cologne and tasted like sin, whimpering sweet little sounds, panting Dorian’s name and begging him for more.

Dorian’s composure was long gone, his eyes fluttered shut as he muttered tevene curses and let his hands grip and claw at Lavellan’s skin after roughly shoving the elf’s tunic up. He hadn’t intended to let this happen -- he’d expected to exchange heated, lazy kisses before sending the Inquisitor on his way. Hadn’t expected to be working himself into a frenzy humping the man, that he’d be slipping his arms under the man’s legs, getting a knee up on the table so he could bend the delicious creature in half and grind his cock against a firm, leather clad ass in a desperate likeness of sex.

“Flexible little thing, aren’t you?” He said into Lavellan’s ear. He expected his voice to sound aloof and amused, though it came out more wrecked than he cared for, eager and needy. Lavellan didn’t seem to mind as he let out a heated laugh, humming his agreement as he wiggled his body against him. The heat of Lavellan’s body, the slender hands roaming all over him, one of them finally gripping his hip, trying to dig into his ass to urge him on, the desperate little sounds and the scent of sex and arousal that was cloaked over them, all of it was driving Dorian wild. It’d been too long since he’d had anything than the squeeze of his own hand, and with a pathetic sort of clarity he realized that what he’d been craving more than anything was intimacy. Curse Lavellan if he wasn’t offering it in spades.

The way Dorian’s body had tensed up overtop of him and the way the man suddenly refused to meet his gaze tipped Lavellan that something was wrong. Pulling his hands down Lavellan smiled as he cupped Dorian’s face between gentle hands, guiding him to turn and look at him as they rutted. “Dorian.” He breathed, lighting up when the Altus met his gaze, face flushed and eyes dark with lust and need and worry. He pressed a soft kiss to Dorian’s lips, the other mage letting him set the pace, licking into his mouth and tugging his lips with teeth, slow and easy while the heat between them grew, a steady assurance that everything was okay.

“You look so good like this, Dorian. Do you have any idea how sexy you are right now?” Lavellan whispered. To his delight Dorian’s body tensed and jerked above him, the words having such an obvious reaction on the poor ‘vint that Lavellan grinned in salacious delight. Iron Bull had mentioned that Dorian would likely crave praise, Lavellan wondered if the qunari had any idea how right he’d been.

“I always look good.” Dorian panted against Lavellan’s mouth, his voice missing all of it’s smugness, unable to salvage the arrogant mask. “We could make artists--” His words were interrupted with a bit off groan when Lavellan’s heels dug into Dorian’s ass as the elf bit lightly at the dark skin of Dorian’s neck. “Ah! Make artists beg to paint us. The two of us…”

His words trailed off into broken little sounds as Lavellan grinned and lifted his lips to the man’s ear, kissing and tugging at it eagerly. “They’d line up to see the sexiest man to come out of Tevinter, yeah?” Lavellan hissed, his voice low and sultry, knowing what range he could speak evenly without his hitching breath to ruin the words. This was far different from the usual filth he was used to spouting in the middle of sex, but he was improvising well. “You’re doing so good for me.” He whispered, smiling when Dorian jerked hard against him, the thrusts of his hips growing rough and twitchy. “You feel good Dorian?” He hardly needed to ask, judging by the string of Tevene that was starting to fall from the mage’s mouth. “You’re gonna come so hard for me, aren’t you? You’re gonna feel so good, gonna look so good when you let it all go.”

“ _Fasta Vass_ , y-you…” Dorian groaned, his grip on Lavellan’s middle tightening enough to bruise, burying his face into the elf’s shoulder and biting down hard into his neck as his drove his leather covered length harder against the curve of Lavellan’s ass, sputtering towards his end with desperate little sounds. “Lavellan!” The words were muffled into the inquisitor’s neck as he came, his whole body seizing up as he let out a choked off noise, breathing ragged and loud as he came undone with manicured nails digging into Lavellan’s skin.

Lavellan loosened the grip of his legs around Dorian’s hips, still rocking against him but not near as hard, just a gentle motion to milk out the afterglow as he felt Dorian slump against him. The man’s tension disappeared as he relaxed into Lavellan’s embrace, his breathing slowly evening out into Lavellan’s shoulder. With some effort Lavellan got Dorian to lift his head enough for gentle kisses across his brow, his cheek, his nose, his mouth. He whispered soft little words of praise while he rubbed his hands across the human’s back, so utterly content as Dorian collected himself.

It was almost painful to see some of the man’s composure return, a thin little mask returning as Dorian took some of his weight off Lavellan and looked down at him with bright silver eyes. He’d seen Dorian completely unguarded and now he craved it like water in the desert. He wanted Dorian to know it was okay, wanted to show him that he didn’t have to hide, but all he could do was return the man’s bright smile and lean up for a kiss.

To his surprise Dorian collected Lavellan’s hands and pinned them above his head, leaning his weight onto them as he hovered his lips over Lavellan’s, a teasing little smirk pulling at his lips that made Lavellan squirm underneath him. “Your mouth is terribly _sinful_ , you know that?” Dorian asked, letting his mustache skim across Lavellan’s upper lip as he spoke, smiling when the elf nuzzled into him automatically.

Lavellan nodded before he smirked himself, more than willing to play this game if that’s what the ‘vint wanted. “You can have my mouth anywhere you want it, pretty.” Maybe his voice was a little breathy, but Dorian seemed satisfied enough with how pliant the elf was being.

Grinning the ‘vint left only one hand to pin Lavellan’s wrists as the other trailed down Lavellan’s chest to the exposed skin of his middle, dragging dark fingernails across pale flesh to leave the lightest of marks behind. “I rather think we should take care of some unfinished business instead, hm?” He teased Lavellan’s mouth with his own, now standing between Lavellan’s parted legs that dangled off the table. “I can’t have you thinking me anything but a considerate lover.”

The words were teasing and Dorian’s voice was steady and unaffected, but there was so much heat in his eyes Lavellan could see how thin the mask was. As easy as it might be to break it, it wasn’t the time for that. It would do no good when Lavellan didn’t know how to put the pieces back together afterwards.

So instead he moaned and arched against Dorian’s hand. While Dorian had showed restraint, managed to keep his noises mostly muffled, Lavellan had no such skills. When Dorian’s hand cupped the straining tent in his leathers he moaned loudly into Dorian’s mouth, the sound stolen away by rough kisses.

He kneaded with the palm of his hand, squeezed and rubbed until Lavellan was a needy mess arching and squirming against him. It was when Dorian had complete control of Lavellan’s mouth that he filled his fingertips with magic, passing it through the smooth leather of Lavellan’s trousers like it wasn’t even there. Lavellan’s entire body seized and trembled in a spasming arch as he wailed into Dorian’s mouth. Hot, then cold, then electric, all of it teasing and dancing across his aching cock in seconds.

“Holy fuck!” Lavellan shouted when Dorian pulled away from his mouth with a wicked grin, nipping at the elf’s jaw as he hummed his approval. “What in the void--”

Dorian cut him off with a slow squeeze of his hand, sinking a light flow of electricity that travelled through Lavellan’s body and left him writhing and straining against the weight of Dorian’s body. “You like that, I take it?” He asked, squeezing again and making Lavellan absolutely collapse into the table as he squirmed helplessly. Any further talking was cut off by fierce kisses, Lavellan rocking his hips up into Dorian’s hand with complete and utter abandon.

He only lasted a handful of agonizingly delicious seconds before he came, crying out into Dorian’s mouth as he shook and thrashed. When he tipped over the edge Dorian released the restraint on his hands, letting the elf clutch at him tightly, pulling Dorian down ontop of him as they rubbed their bodies together and rode out the afterglow.

“Sweet holy fuck.” Lavellan finally moaned against Dorian’s mouth, finding his breath enough to speak, his body a sweaty mess that could only slump against his partner.

“Never done that before?” Dorian asked with amusement as he lifted his hand to push sweaty hair back from Lavellan’s forehead in an entirely affectionate gesture.

“Never through _clothes._ ” Lavellan whimpered as he settled his hands into the front of Dorian’s robes, clutching him close. “Never _to_ me.”

“Now that’s a shame.” Dorian grinned against Lavellan’s forehead as he pressed a kiss there. “You’re so responsive to it. Southern mages are never taught about all the _fun_ one can have with magic, I suppose.” As he spoke he lowered a hand from Lavellan’s hair to stroke ringed fingers down Lavellan’s neck. With a bit of concentration he dragged his fingers down the lean tendons there, leaving beads of chill water in the hollow of Lavellan’s throat that made the elf moan at the cool against heated skin. “Kaffas, the things I could show you.” Dorian whispered as he lowered his mouth to lick at the water with close to burning heat, fire on his tongue.

Lavellan couldn’t withstand it, moaning as he arched and writhed under the attention. “Yessssss.” He practically purred. “I want you to teach me.”

They fell into easy kisses then, warm bodies rocking against each other but with none of the urgency. Intimacy as a balm for their rushed nerves, soothing away the residue of their desperate lust and leaving warm affection in its place.

Eventually Dorian lifted himself off Lavellan, straightening up and stretching his back with a contented noise. He dipped his hand to the front of his trousers after, fixing the belt Lavellan had undone and adjusting himself awkwardly. “Well, that’s uncomfortable.” He said with a bit of a laugh, though the look he gave Lavellan was complicated. “I’m going to go change into something less...messy.”

Lavellan sat, managing to pull down his shirt as he did before reaching for Dorian with a little grin. He looked completely dishevelled, face and ears still flushed, hair everywhere and lips swollen and slick, neck and exposed collar bone covered with bites and marks. Dorian’s extra collars and dark skin certainly did a good job of hiding away his sins. “It’s okay, Dorian. I can have fresh clothes sent down for us.” He said easily, tugging at Dorian’s hips to draw him in for another kiss.

The Altus didn’t deny him, giving into the gentle kiss but refusing to fall into the trap Lavellan had set by lingering over much. “I’d rather avoid having the servants start rumors.” Dorian said with an easy flash of smile that was far too glittering with glossy beauty to be sincere. Lavellan watched carefully as Dorian went back to straightening himself, smoothing his hair and fixing his mustache with quick tucks of his fingers, adjusting his clothes back to proper formation. The fall of his outfit hid any conspicuous patches in his pants, Lavellan couldn’t help but be amazed at how fast Dorian made himself presentable, how quickly and completely he rebuilt his masks once he was no longer wrapped up in Lavellan’s arms.

“How do I look?” Dorian asked with a charming smile. There wasn’t a trace of the self conscious man who was unwilling to let himself go without his lover’s assurance that it was okay. Of the man so starved of praise and intimacy that he could be undone with the simplest of heady compliments.

“Absolutely spectacular.” Lavellan answered back, the flirtatious charm that they practically drowned themselves with back full force. They grinned at each other before Dorian stepped forward to assist Lavellan, smoothing the wrinkles in his clothing and fixing his hair as easily as he had his own, tucking up Lavellan’s collar and fastening it with a warm expression on his face.

“We’ll meet with Dagna in an hour? To discuss with her the possibility of the foci she has multiplying our cure?”

Lavellan laughed aloud when he realized Dorian was claiming victory in their argument, giving the Altus a half hearted slap across his hip, though he didn’t disagree with him. Far too satisfied to debate any further, he had indeed been persuaded by the ‘vints charms. He beamed at Dorian to let the man know he’d won. “I’ll be there.” He assured as Dorian pressed a soft kiss to his forehead before leaving him and whisking out the doorway. The man’s stride was strong and confident, nothing giving away how uncomfortable the slick mess in his underthings must be.

In his comfortable daze Lavellan’s smile eventually faded when he realized that he’d become exactly the lover Dorian was accustomed to. Someone for hushed, hurried little bursts of sex, tucked away in dark corners or out of the public eye, always ready to return to the party in a moments notice without anyone the wiser. Opportunistic sex without any sort of commitment or attachment.

Dorian had made a conscious decision to go back to the way things had been for him in Tevinter, if only to satisfy Lavellan’s sudden interest. He probably hadn’t even considered for a second that Lavellan wanted anything more than a dirty little secret, nothing more serious than two nobles making a game of not being caught, doing his best to protect the Inquisitor’s reputation.

Lavellan let out a groan as he scrubbed his face with the palms of his hands, at a complete loss. He was out of his element, in over his head and falling deeper by the second. Iron Bull had explained this all to him, had told him that Dorian’s background and the general shitines of Tevinter would be an issue. Running the plan through his head over and over, Lavellan reminded himself that there was hope. There _would_ be a time when he would be able to pin Dorian down and make him see the entirety of what was being offered. No bloody wonder Iron Bull had been so determined to make sure Lavellan was willing to give Dorian everything. The idea of anyone using the ‘vint he’d grown so protective of like this made Lavellan’s stomach churn.

For now he had to stick with the plan, he was to show Dorian how desired he was. Lavellan decided that the next time he’d make sure Dorian knew exactly how much Lavellan wanted to take care of him, and how totally unashamed of that he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are going well! Time for Lavellan's plan to start spiraling out of control. >:3

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you everyone for the kind notes and comments, I'm absoutely delighted with all the positive responses and they make me so happy to see. I live for feedback so if you've enjoyed or think I could improve somewhere, please comment and let me know!


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